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A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 


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BY 

BEATRICE  WHITBY, 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  AWAKENING  OP  MAEY  FENWIOR.' 


THE    MINERVA    PUBLISHING    COMPANY, 

48  UNIVERSITY  PLACE, 
NEW  YORK, 


HENRY  M 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL 


CHAPTER  I. 


"  If  ladies  be  but  young  and  fair, 
They  have  the  gift  to  know  it." 

As  You  Like  It. 

TTPON  the  uncarpeted  floor  of  a  shabbily-furnished 
^  bedroom  stood  a  small  open  trunk,  before  which 
knelt  a  girl  who  was  engaged  in  packing  her  few 
possessions  within  its  narrow  dimensions.  This 
task  she  performed  with  ostentatious  indifference, 
as  though  she  realized  their  worthlessness  and  what 
sheer  waste  of  time  it  would  be  were  she  to  wrap 
cotton  gowns  and  shady  hats  in  tissue-paper,  or  to 
!  expend  thought  or  ingenuity  on  the  arrangement  of 
so  scanty  a  wardrobe. 

Though  the  room  in  which  she  knelt  was  uncar- 
peted and  not  ornamental,  it  was  large,  airy,  and 
cheerful.  The  broad  window,  through  which  the 
summer  sunshine  streamed,  was  wide  open,  and 
round  its  casement  a  Gloire  de  Dijon  rose,  in  full 
bloom,  trailed  its  notched  leaves  and  sweet  bios- 

514261 


4  -  #  MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

soms.  Outside  in  the  garden  a  linnet  was  singing, 
and  the  air  smelled  of  mignonette  and  heliotrope. 

All  the  time  the  girl  was  packing  she  sang  to  her- 
self in  a  light-hearted,  nonchalant  way,  which 
spoke  well  for  the  unshadowed  gayety  of  her  mind,  j 

These  were  the  words  she  sang  : 

"  A  man  who  would  woo  a  fair  maid, 
Should  'prentice  himself  to  the  trade, 

And  study  all  day,  in  methodical  way, 
How  to  natter,  cajole,  and  persuade. 
It  is  purely  a  matter  of  skill, 
Which  all  may  attain  if  they  will, 

But  every  Jack  he  should  study  the  knack 
If  he  wants  to  make  sure  of  his  Jill !" 

Very  soon  the  trunk  was  filled  and  her  work 
done.  Then  she  rose  slowly  to  her  feet,  and  going 
over  to  the  window  she  leaned  out,  still  singing — 

"  Then  a  glance  may  he  timid  or  free, 
It  may  vary  in  mighty  degree, 

From  an  mpudent  stare 

To  a  look  of  despair, 
Which  no  maid  without  pity  can  see, 
And  a  glance  of  despair  is  no  guide, 
It  may  have  its  ridiculous  side, 

It  may  draw  you  a  tear, 

Or  a  hox  on  the  ear, 
You  can  never  he  sure  till  you've  tried." 

She  was  a  tall  girl,  and  she  made  the  most  of  her 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL.  § 

height,  for  she  held  her  head  high  and  moved  with 
much  stately  dignity,  when  she  was  in  the  humor  to 
to  be  grand.  There  was  a  distinguished  air  about 
her  which  was  more  remarkable  than  her  beauty, 
though  that,  too,  was  by  no  means  inconsiderable. 

Her  eyes  were  lovely  ;  gray  eyes,  which  could  be 
deep,  or  tender,  or  cold,  or  mischievous,  according  to 
their  owner's  mood — not  her  will,  for  there  was 
nothing  artificial  about  the  young  lady.  Her  lips 
curved  with  laughter,  though  they  knew  the  trick 
of  falling  into  severe  lines  if  their  mistress  was  dis- 
pleased. The  voice  with  which  she  sang  was  clear, 
refined,  and  just  a  little  cold.  Her  complexion  was 
delicate  and  pale  ;  her  brown  hair  was  curled  and 
coiled  and  trimly  bound  to  her  small  head.  She 
was  carefully  though  poorly  dressed ;  her  clothes, 
however  shabby,  never  suggested  that  they  had 
been  u  shoveled  on  with  a  pitchfork,"  were  worn  to 
the  best  advantage.  Her  old  serge  gown  was  brushed 
into  a  semblance  of  smartness  ;  the  collar  round  her 
long  throat  and  the  Cuffs  above  her  well-bred  hands 
were  spotless.  A  red  rose  was  tucked  into  the 
bosom  of  her  gown. 

Her  bearing  betokened  a  self-reliance  and  self- 
possession  which  are  usually  the  outcome  of  con- 
scious superiority,  and  though  she  was  neither  ag- 


6  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

gressively  conceited  nor  inordinately  proud,  yet  she 
had  no  mean  opinion  of  her  attractions.  She  had, 
perhaps,  rather  an  exaggerated  idea  of  the  value  of 
the  blue  blood  in  her  veins,  inherited  from  the  old 
Welsh  family  of  which  her  mother  was  a  member. 

She  was  proud  of  her  ancestors,  proud  of  herself 
altogether,  and,  what  was  more,  she  was  a  trifle 
proud  of  her  pride. 

Her  father  was  rector  of  Meriton,  a  village  in  the 
Midlands.  The  living  was  a  poor  one,  and  the  rec- 
tor's private  income  was  very  small ;  the  girl  Helen, 
his  only  child,  had  been  reared  in  poverty  from  her 
cradle.  The  beautiful  things  of  life  which  she 
loved  had  been  denied  her ;  but  with  admiring 
parents,  pleasant  friends,  plenty  of  genial  society,  a 
home  which  she  considered  perfection,  and  in  which 
she  reigned  as  absolute  monarch,  she  had  found 
nothing  to  desire.  Her  temper  was  imperious  and  ! 
quick,  but  where  everything  was  arranged  with  a 
view  to  her  pleasure  she  found  little  to  try  it,  and 
had  danced  through  her  twenty-one  years  of  life, 
rejoicing  on  her  way,  as  happy  as  a  kitten  and  as 
light  of  heart  as  a  child. 

Her  first  trial  had  come,  "  not  with  womanhood," 
but  with  her  father's  first  bachelor  curate,  who  had 
fallen  promptly  and  desperately  in  love  with  her.  j 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL.  7 

Her  gray  eyes  were  beautiful  but  cold;  laughter, 
not  love,  was  to  be  found  in  them;  she  really  had 
no  patience  with  the  young  man's  folly.  He  was  a 
quiet,  unassuming  person,  and  Mrs.  Mitford  had  - 
vainly  tried  to  persuade  her  impervious  daughter  \ 
to  recognize  and  appreciate  his  commendable 
qualities. 

For  some  time  Helen  had  refused  to  treat  this 
serious  matter  seriously.  She  had  continued  to 
walk  with  the  gentleman,  to  sing  to  him,  to  play 
golf  and  tennis  with  him,  to  make  up  his  mind  for 
him  on  all  subjects,  recklessly  disregarding  conse- 
quences. 

"Oh,  it  is  only  fancy,  mother,"  she  had  said, 
when  Mrs.  Mitford  remonstrated.  "  If  I  don't  take 
any  notice  of  it,  it  will  blow  over." 

"Will  it?"  her  mother  groaned,  shaking  her 
head.  "I  hope  it  may,  but  these  things  sometimes 
blow  into  flame  instead  of  blowing  over." 

Mrs.  Mitford  was  right.  Driven  to  desperation 
by  the  girl's  behavior,  her  lover  had  refused  to  be 
silenced,  and  for  once  so  far  asserted  himself  as  to 
demand  an  interview  with  her  father,  and  an  ex- 
planation with  herself.  For  many  days,  by  a  thou- 
sand ruses,  she  had  managed  to  postpone  it,  but  it 
came  at  last. 


g  A  MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

The  interview  had  been  solemn,  and  the  expla* 
nation  so  passionate  and  prolonged  that  Helen  had 
been  frightened  and  agitated  into  angry,  resent - 
!  ment.  She  had  been  most  disagreeable  and  repel - 
j  lant,  and  he,  stung  by  her  coldness,  had  reproached 
her  with  vehemence.  It  had  been  very  dreadful, 
and  she  had  felt  extremely  ashamed  of  herself. 

For  one  long  day  after  this  scene  Helen  had  been 
subdued,  and  went  about  the  house  and  garden  at 
a  slow  walk,  neither  singing  nor  smiling.  She  had 
discovered  that  some  feelings,  faculties,  emotions 
were  abroad  in  the  world  of  which  she  knew 
nothing,  and  the  approach  of  which  she  should  be 
most  particularly  careful  to  shun. 

Upon  the  following  morning,  by  what  Helen 
welcomed  as  a  lucky  turn  of  Fortune's  wheel,  she  had 
received  an  invitation  to  pay  Mr.  Mitford's  maiden 
sister  a  visit,  at  a  village  on  the  North  Devonshire 
coast.  Such  an  invitation  had  been  proffered 
yearly,  hitherto  Helen  had  expressed  no  wish  to  ac- 
cept it,  but  now  she  had  changed  her  mind. 

As  soon  as  she  had  finished  reading  her  aunt's 
letter,  she  tossed  it  across  the  breakfast-table  to 
her  mother,  saying — 

"Here  is  Aunt  Elizabeth's  annual  invitation, 
mother;  will  you  read  it  ?    She  is  such  a  dear  old 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL.  9 

thing,  and  she  really  wants  me.  The  new  people— 
those  dreadful  Jones'— are  going  to  give  a  ball  this 
month;  she  says  Mrs.  Majoribanks  would  take  me. 
I  think,  no,  I  am  sure,  I  should  like  to  go." 

Mrs.  Mitford,  who  had  never  arranged  a  plan  in 
her  life,  but  who  had,  with  peaceful  success,  al- 
lowed herself  to  be  guided  by  any  who  cared  to 
exert  themselves  to  think  for  her,  obediently  pe- 
rused the  letter. 

Helen  and  her  mother  possessed  dispositions 
directly  antithetical  each  to  the  other,  but  in  com- 
mon they  owned  one  trait — each  adored  the  other 
with  that  open,  perfect,  self-sacrificing,  blind  love 
which  seems  out  of  fashion  nowadays  between 
mother  and  daughter,  but  which  creates*  an  other- 
wise unattainable  happiness  in  home  life. 

Mrs.  Mitford  possessed  the  still  comely  remains 
of  beauty,  but  with  her,  as  with  Helen,  an  inde- 
]  scribable  air  of  good  breeding  was  the  predominat- 
1  ing  characteristic  of  her  appearance.  In  common, 
too,  they  owned  finely -molded  features,  small  heads 
held  high,  tall  and  graceful  figures.  But  the  elder 
lady's  face  was  mildly  dignified;  her  lips  were  never 
compressed  by  sudden  anger  nor  curved  with  pride, 
neither  did  they  break  into  wide  laughter  nor 
ripple  with  wicked  smiles,  as  did  her  daughter's. 


lb  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

The  mother  was  an  optimist;  she  took  life  easily 
and  good-humoredly,  so  she  was  good  and  cheerful 
company  both  to  herself  and  her  neighbors. 

When  she  had  finished  reading  her  sister-in-law's 
letter,  she  laid  it  down  by  the  side  of  her  coffee-cup 
and  looked  up,  rather  wistfully,  at  Helen. 

"Did  you  say  that  you  would  like  to  go  to  Devon- 
shire, dear  ? " 

"Yes,  mother.  You  see,  Aunt  Elizabeth  says 
she  will  pay  my  journey,  so  there  is  really  no  reason 
why  I  should  not  go." 

"Certainly  not,  dear.  You  shall  do  as  you  wish. 
Henry"— addressing  the  Rector—"  Henry,  Helen  is 
going  down  to  Noelcombe  to  stay  with  Elizabeth." 
The  Rector  was  reading  the  Morning  Post.  He 
lowered  it,  and  looked  rather  absently  at  his  wife. 
"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,"  he  said.  "  The  sea 
is  delightful  at  this  time  of  year,  and  Elizabeth's 
carnations  will  be  in  full  bloom.  I  shall  be  curious 
to  hear  whether  the  primrose  variety  has  deterior- 
ated; don't  forget  to  let  me  know,  Helen." 

Mr.  Mitford  was  a  good  clergyman,  and  he  was 
also  a  zealous  gardener.  He  was  of  an  indolent, 
easy-going  temperament.  The  milk  of  human  kind- 
ness abounded  in  his  kind  heart;  he  was  much  loved 
by  his  parishioners,  and  if  he  did  little  good,  at  least 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL,  it 

he  did  no  harm.  He  lived  a  contented,  happy,  un- 
ambitious life,  and  of  the  many  perfections  of  a 
charming  world  he  considered  Mrs.  and  Miss  Mit- 
ford  the  masterpieces.  [ 

•  The  Rector  returned  to  his  paper,  and  Helen  ate; 
her  breakfast  deliberatively  and  in  silence. 

"I  shall  start  the  day  after  to-morrow,  mother," 
she  presently  announced,  having  assured  herself 
that  such  was  her  feasible  desire,  "for  I  really  must 
get  away  from  Mr.  Flight.  Now  don't  look  severe. 
It.  is  for  his  own  sake  I  am  going — partly,  you 
know.  I  am  sure  he  will  be  glad  when  I  am  gone, 
though  he  mayn't  think  so  just  at  first.  In  this 
place  I  meet  him  at  every  corner ;  and  on  Sunday, 
when  he  preaches  about  the  sorrows  of  life,  he  looks 
at  me,  and  it  is  so  horrid." 

"My  dear,  my  dear,  you  must  not  be  heartless. 
Poor  Mr.  Flight ! " 

"That's  just  what  he  is,  mother — he  is  poor. .  I 
don't  mean  penniless,  you  know,  because  he  is  ^ 
pretty  well  off.  I  mean  poor-spirited  ;  he  has  no 
pride.  Pshaw.  Think  of  wishing  to  marry  a  per- 
son who  doesn't  like  you  !  Think  of  not  only  wish- 
ing it,  but  talking  about  the  wish  ! "  There  was  a 
fine  scorn  in  her  voice.  "  It  is  contemptible,  in- 
sufferable, despicable ! " 


12  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

Mrs.  Mitford  never  excited  herself  to  argue— 
seldom  to  give  an  opinion— but  now  she  spoke  with 
decision. 

"  Mr.  Flight  is  a  nice  young  man,  Helen — quite 
nice.  You  should  have  believed  me ;  I  warned 
you.  I  have  such  experience  and  foresight  as  you 
will  some  day  acquire,  no  doubt,  though  you  are 
long  about  it.  In  this  quiet  place,  where  there  is 
little  to  distract  a  gentleman,  I  do  not  see  how  he 
could  well  have  avoided  falling  in  love  with  you." 
The  disdain  of  Helen's  face  perplexed  her  mother. 
"It  is  no  offense  on  his  part ;  it  is  the  greatest  com- 
pliment he  could  pay  you,  dear.  You  have  no  right 
to  despise  him  for  it." 

"But  mother,  he  is  so  ridiculous  or  so  tiresome. 
I  laugh  or  I  get  angry— I  can't  help  it." 

Mrs.  Mitford  sighed. 

"My  dear,"  she  said  "you  will  be  an  old  maid, 
and  when  it  is  too  late  you  will  be  sorry." 

No  girl  likes  that  dismal  epithet,  "an  old  maid," 
applied  to  her,  even  in  joke.  Mrs.  Mitford  was  in 
earnest,  and  Helen  grew  grave. 

"I  shall  marry,"  she  said,  "some  day — not  too 
soon.  I  love  pretty  clothes  and  pretty  things  about 
me,  and  therefore  I  love  the  money  that  buys  them, 
and  therefore  I  shan't  marry  a  poor  man.     When 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL.  13 

I  fall  in  love" — with  distinct  disrelish  of  the  pros- 
pect— "I  shall  take  care  to  fix  on  a  rich  man — a 
Croesus — so  as  to  combine  prudence  with  passion, 
mother,  and  make  a  good  match." 

Mrs.  Mitford  nodded. 

"Well,  my  dear,  if  you  do  it  will  be  very  wise 
of  you.  When  I  was  young,  girls  were  not  so  pru- 
dent as  they  are  at  present.  When  your  father 
suggested  our  marriage,  I  agreed  without  casting  a 
thought  to  his  income.  I  was  never  a  practical 
woman,  I — " 

"No,"  broke  in  the  Kector,  startling  his  wife  and 
daughter,  in  whose  conversation  he  never  joined 
until  his  paper  had  been  read  from  end  to  end ; 
"thank  my  stars,  you  were  not  a  practical  woman, 
Honora.  You  were  a  tender-hearted,  sweet  girl, 
such  as  I  should  like  to  see  that  silly  girl  there,  who 
thinks  her  airs  and  graces  very  smart  at  present, 
but  who  will  find  them  poor  and  cold  company  be- 
fore long,  ]et  me  tell  you.  Don't  pride  yourself  on 
your  obduracy,  Nell.  A  yielding  disposition  is  a 
charming  and  womanly  attribute. " 

"Father,  that's  a  dull  paper,"  said  his  daughter, 
smiling  rather  deprecatingly,  "or  you  would  not  put 
it  down  to  scold  me ;  if  I  am  made  of  brick  instead 
of  gutta-percha,   it  isn't  my  fault.      It  is  all  Mr. 


14  A  MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

Flight's  fault  for  finding  it  out.  I  owe  him  ten 
thousand  grudges.  I  shall  have  to  say  fyes,'  that 
is  the  only  effectual  way  I  know  of  paying  him 
out." 

"Do  not  worry  yourself  about  her,  Henry,"  said 
his  wife  with  a  calm  and  superior  smile,  '  'when  the 
right  man  comes  she  will  be,  like  the  rest  of  her 
sisterhood,  only  too  ready  to  leave  her  home  and 
her  people." 

"Then  I  hope  the  right  man  will  be  rich,"  said 
the  girl,  making  a  grimace,  "  excessively  and  ab- 
normally rich,  for  I  shall  want  a  very  big  bribe  to 
console  me  for  leaving  home." 

That  conversation  had  taken  place  on  Monday 
morning  ;  on  Wednesday  Miss  Mitf ord  had  packed 
her  small  trunk  in  the  manner  already  described. 
Upon  that  afternoon  she  was  to  travel  to  Noel- 
combe,  where  she  had  undertaken  to  spend  a  long 
month  away  from  her  home  and  in  company  with 
Miss  Elizabeth  Mitford. 

It  was  not  until  she  had  collected  her  possessions 
and  looked  at  them  critically,  that  she  realized  how 
scanty  and  worthless  they  were.  Poverty  was  a 
disadvantage.  Helen  owned  a  slender  foot — an 
arched  instep,  and  perfect  ankle — the  form  of  which 
was  disguised  in  a  country-built  boot.    Helen  owned 


A  MATTEL   OF  SKILL.  15 

a  skin  fair  and  delicate  as  the  petals  of  a  La  France 
rosebud,  but  she  might  not  wear  a  white  gown  be- 
cause the  cost  of  washing  was  a  consideration. 
Helen  had  received  an  invitation  to  a  ball,  but  was 
it  a  thing  to  be  desired  when  her  one  ball  dress 
was  draggled,  limp,  soiled,  and  would  be  shamed 
by  a  dive  into  smart  company,  where  it  must  brave 
comparison  with  creations  from  the  brain  of  a  M. 
Worth  or  a  Kate  Reilly  ?  Poverty  at  home  sits 
lightly  on  our  shoulder,  we  hardly  feel  his  weight, 
but  when  we  introduce  him  to  new  scenes  and  rich 
neighbors,  change  of  air  increases  his  bulk  and  he 
becomes  a  burdensome  and  oppressive  comrade. 

Helen  looked  down  upon  her  trunk  and  in  her 
heart  of  hearts  she  thought,  "  Some  day  I  will  have 
a  box  such  ab  porters  tremble  to  see ;  its  size  shall 
be  gigantic,  c  !  it  shall  be  full  to  overflowing,  for  I 
will  marry  a  rich  man  who  will  fill  it  for  me  from 
his  coffers ! " 

But  the  mercenary  intentions  of  this  young  woman 
did  not  interfere  with  the  sweet  lilting  of  her  song, 
she  was  still  singing — 

"  It  is  purely  a  matter  of  skill, 
Which  all  may  attain  if  they  will, 
But  every  Jack  he  should  study  the  knack 
If  he  wants  to  make  sure  of  his  Jill." 


io  A   MATTER   OF  SKILL, 

when  the  door  opened,  and  with  slow  stately  step 
and  mild  face,  lined  with  an  unusual  anxiety,  her 
mother  entered  the  room.  She  looked  at  Helen 
with  some  trepidation;  she  was  conscious  of  being! 
the  bearer  of  an  unwelcome  message.  She  was  not! 
in  the  least  bit  afraid  of  her  impetuous  daughter's 
anger,  but  she  was  afraid  of  causing  any  living  soul 
one  pang,  nay,  one  prick  even,  of  unnecessary 
pain.  Helen  could  read  her  mother's  face  per- 
fectly, she  saw  at  once  that  there  was  something 
the  matter.  She  stopped  singing  and  began  to 
question  her. 

"Mother,"  she  said,    "you   have  ^en  tc 

order  the  fly  again,  I  know  you  h&rv  fon 

have  come  to  break  the  news  tc        ,  n(*  be  for- 
given." f 

"Nay,  Helen,  the  fly  will  be  he     /    an  hour's 
time.     I  ordered  it  at  two  o'clock. " 

"  Then  what  is  the  matter  ?    Your  f      is  a*  long  ] 
as  a  sermon."  ' 

"There  is  nothing  the  matter;  bu  - 1  ha • *  brought 
you  a  message.     Poor  Mr.  Flight- 
Helen  stamped  her  foot  upon  the      ound. 
"Poor  Mr.  Flight,"  she  broke  Aut,  witha  world 
of  emphasis  on  the  adjective.     "I  won't  3ar  his^ 
name,  mother,  I  shall  put  my  fingers  in  my  ears 


A   MATTER   OF  SKILL.  17 

and  run  down  into  the  garden  if  you  mention  him 
again,  I  will,  indeed." 

( '  That  is  just  where  I  wish  you  to  run,  my  dear. 
The  poor  man  is  in  the  kitchen  garden  and  I  have 
promised  him  that  you  shall  go  to  him  just  to  bid 
him  good-by." 

An  angry  color,  red  as  the  rose  at  her  bosom,  suf> 
fused  the  girl's  fair  cheeks  ;  up  went  her  little  head 
in  the  air,  her  lips  curved  superciliously. 

"  Helen,  dear,  don't  be  disagreeable,"  her  mother 
went  on,  soothingly,  "you  don't  know  what  suffer- 
ing such  feeb'^gs  entail,  and  the  ignorance  does  not 
reaotmd  >  '-ny  way  to  your  credit.  Kemember 
wh£t,7  >  'er  told  you  at  breakfast  the  other 
morning.  i>  be  hard  and  don't  pride  yourself 
on  your  obd ;:        ." 

"Mother''  mnly — "if  ever  I  am  so  unfor- 

tunate as  tc  1  y  in  love,  I  hope  and  pray,  no,  more, 
I  swear,  tto  10  one  shall  know  it.  I  shall  have 
sufficient  ^  aspect  to  keep  my  feelings  to  myself 
and  not  tra]  $xem  through  dust  and  mire,  so  that 
any  one  who      » "    *o  glance  my  way  can  see  them." 

"When  yua  ^  ^  as  other  women  feel  you  will  do 
as  women  do,  ft  we.  Now,  dear,  don't  keep  poor 
Mr.  Fligh  vaiting.  It  isn't  probable  that  you  will 
ever  see  him  again  after  to-day.    He  only  asked 


1 8  A   MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

leave  to  speak  to  you  for  one  moment,  and  I  could 
not  refuse  him  such  a  small  request.  You  have 
caused  him  a  great  deal  of  pain  hitherto.  Why  not 
wish  him  good -by  kindly  ?  soothe  his  wounded 
vanity  by  a  few  gracious  words,  they  can  do  you  no 
harm." 

' '  Oh,  mother,  you  are  as  soft  as  the  dove,  but  not 
so  wise  as  the  serpent,"  said  the  girl,  shaking  her 
head  and  laughing.  "  It  will  be  just  as  unpleasant 
for  him,  no  matter  how  nicely  I  put  it.  It's  a  nasty, 
dangerous  order  of  yours;  if  I  am  different  he  won't 
understand,  and  I  shall  have  the  whole  business  to 
go  through  again.  Then  I  shall  miss  my  train — to 
say  nothing  of  losing  my  temper." 

"  You  are  heartless  and  unfeeling,  Helen,"  said 
Mrs.  Mitford,  severely.  "I  am  sure  you  don't  in- 
herit those  faults  from  either  your  father  or  myself. 
Henry  was  a  susceptible  young  man,  and  he  was, 
by  no  means,  my  first  lover." 

"Then  why  do  you  want  me  to  marry  my  first 
lover,  mother  ?  You  didn't,  and  it's  such  a  poor- 
spirited,  mean  sort  of  thing  to  do." 

"Don't  dawdle  in  this  way,  Helen,  the  delay 
tries  poor  Mr.  Flight  and  does  you  no  good.  Go 
down,  go  down  now,  you  will  find  him  between 
the  raspberries  and  the  Jerusalem  artichokes," 


A   MATTER   OF  SKILL.  19 

Then  Hel^n,  to  her  mother's  amazement,  changed 
her  tone.  She  defended  herself  against  the  charge 
of  obduracy  with  vehemence;  she  declared  finally 
that  her  indifference  to  Mr.  Flight  was  no  sign  of 
want  of  heart.  Then,  in  a  stormy  frame  of  mind, 
she  went  to  the  looking-glass  and  smoothed  her 
nut-brown  hair,  and  stared  resentfully  at  her 
beautiful  face,  until,  with  sulky  dignity,  she  at 
length  obeyed  her  mother,  and  set  off  to  keep  this 
distasteful  tryst. 


20  A  MATTER   OF  SKILL. 


CHAPTER  IL 

"  Experience  does  take  dreadfully  high  school  wages, 
But  he  teaches  like  no  other." 

Caelyle. 

'"THE  Rectory  kitchen  garden  was  untidy — not; 
hopelessly  untidy,  but  somewhat  neglected. 
Poor  people's  gardens  are  seldom  in  apple-pie  order. 
Perhaps  that  is  the  reason  why  poor  people's 
flowers  flourish  more  luxuriantly  than  their  better  <- 
tended  brethren  which  are  reared  under  the  care  of 
pruning,  raking,  prof essional  gardeners.  Let-alone 
flowers,  like  let-alone  children,  are  so  much  more 
true  to  Nature — to  the  Divine  Hand  whence  they 
come  than  are  the  trained  and  cultivated  speci- 
mens. 

Up  and  down  a  moss-grown  gravel  path,  whic-h 
intersected  a  row  of  ragged  raspberry  bushes  on  the 
one  hand  and  a  waving  sea  of  artichoke  sticks  upon 
the  other,  a  young  man  paced  hurriedly.  His 
handsome  features  were  glum,  and  gloomy  of  ex- 
pression; his  mouth  was  weak  and  womanly.  He 
hung  his  head  and  gazed  upon  the  ground. 


A   MATTER   OF  SKILL.  2t 

This  was  poor  Mr.  Flight,  toward  whom  at  this 
moment  Miss  Helen  Mitford  was  slowly  wending 
her  way.  Her  heart  beat  unusually  quickly  as 
she  approached ;  but,  alas  for  him  !  it  beat  with  an 
embarrassed  anger — not  for  love.  She  was  indig- 
nant at,  and  intolerant  of,  her  lover's  obstinate  and 
importunate  affection,  and  yet  she  schooled  herself 
to  patience.  She  would  remember  her  parents'  re- 
marks, and  endeavor  to  treat  this  distasteful  pas- 
sion with  leniency,  if  not  respect. 

When  he  heard  her  step  he  turned  to  meet  her, 
holding  out  his  hands.  She  halted  abruptly  when 
he  did  so,  put  her  hands  behind  her,  standing  in  an 
attitude  unmistakably  on  the  defensive.  She 
looked  very  cold,  very  unapproachable,  and  not  at 
all  a  young  lady  whom  it  would  be  easy  to  coerce; 
but  withal  she  looked  so  beautiful  that  poor  Mr. 
Flight  grew  desperate. 

" Helen,"  he  cried,  "  Helen,  you  did  not  mean 
what  you  said  ?  You  could  not  be  so  cruel.  You 
will  not  wantonly  break  my  heart  ?  You  have 
come  to  tell  me  that  you  have  changed  your 
mind?" 

"I  never  change  my  mind — at  least,  not  with- 
out a  reason.  I  came  because  my  mother  said  she 
had  promised  you  that  I  should  come." 


22  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

Neither  her  words  nor  her  face  were  encouraging, 
and  he  knew  it. 

"Never — never  change!  There  is  no  such  a 
word  as  ( never'  to  me,"  he  told  her,  mournfully,  I 
shall  continue  to  hope — I  can  not  give  up  hope. 
You  are  not  heartless.  I  know  you  are  not.  I 
shall  wait.  I  will  not  despair.  Why  should  I  ? 
For  you  know  that  winter  does  not  last  forever. 
If  I  wait  spring  will  come." 

She  did  not  follow  this  meaning;  she  looked 
puzzled,  and  did  not  speak.  Silence  on  her  part 
was  unusual,  and  he  thought  it  augured  well  for 
him. 

"  I  am  in  no  hurry,  Helen.  I  will  be  patient — I 
can  hope  on.  You  have  only  known  me  six 
month«;  I  was  foolish  to  expect  too  much.  You 
shall  see  more  of  me,  much  more,  and  then,  per- 
haps, you  may  grow  to  like  me.  Don't  shake  your 
head.  What  is  it  that  you  dislike  in  me  ?  Tell 
'me  what  pleases  you,  and  I  will  endeavor — " 

"Oh,  don't,"  she  interrupted;  "don't  say  all 
those  things  over  again — it  is  of  no  use.  I  have 
told  you  so  a  dozen  times.  I  don't  dislike  you. 
Why  should  I?" 

"  If  you  don't  dislike  me,  why  not  like  me  ? " 

"  I  tell  you  that  I  do  like  you" — impatiently. 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL  23 

"  Then  marry  me." 

"No." 

"  Helen,  look  here.  You  don't  dislike  me — you 
mean  to  be  married  some  day.  I  have  got  a  fair  in- 
come, a  good  temper.  I  love  you  dearly,  and  I  will 
give  you  your  own  way  in  everything." 

She  stamped  her  foot  on  the  ground  and  said  : 

"  G-ood-by,  Mr.  Flight.  I  start  at  two.  I  can 
not  wait  here  another  instant." 

"  Helen,  listen  a  moment.  I  shall  not  give  up 
hope.  I  shall  come  again.  I  shall  be  patient. 
You  will  not  be  so  cruel  as  to  refuse  me  hope — it  is 
such  a  little  thing  to  ask,  Helen,  your  father 
wishes  me  to  leave  this  place,  to  go  forever.  I 
shall  go,  but  I  shall  follow  you  to  Noelcombe.  I 
shall  come  to  see  you,  I  must  see  you  again.  I  can 
not  bear  to  be  away  from  you.  May  I  come  % — will 
you  speak  to  me  ?" 

"  Noelcombe  doesn't  belong  to  me,"  said  Miss 
Mitford,  petulantly.  "  If  you  choose  to  come  there 
I  can't  help  it.     Good-by." 

"  Then,  If  I  come,  you  will  speak  to  me  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  yes,  yes.     Good-by." 

"  Won't  you  shake  hands  ?" 

Then  Helen,  much  relieved  at  the  thought  of  the 
approaching  parting,  and  prompted  by  the  memory 


H  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

of  her  mother's  suggestion,  looked  up  with  a  smile 
into  her  lover's  gloomy  eyes  and  laid  her  cool, 
slender  hand  in  his. 

"  Good-by,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden  access  of  cor- 
dial friendliness  in  her  clear  voice  ;  "  good-by,  Mr. 
Flight.  I  am  so  sorry  I  have  been  such  a  nuisance 
to  you,  but  if  it  hadn't  been  me  it  would  have  been 
someone  else,  probably." 

And  so  saying,  she  wrenched  her  hand  from  his 
hold,  and,  turning  her  back  upon  him,  she  rapidly 
disappeared  down  the  gravel  path  and  entered  the 
house. 

i  " Mother,"  she  said  with  a  rueful  smile,  when 
that  lady  accosted  her  at  the  garden  door,  "  I  have 
done  as  you  wished.  I  have  been  so  kind  to  Mr. 
Might  that  he  is  coming  down  to  Noelcombe  to  see 
me.  He  says  I  must  see  more,  much  more  of  him, 
and  that  then  it  will  be  all  right.  Oh,  mother,  why 
were  you  so  foolish  as  to  make  me  meet  him  again  ? 
— why  didn't  you  let  well  alone  ?  Bother  !  I  have 
dropped  that  lovely  red  rose,  and  of  course'he  picked 
it  up.  Before  a  week  is  over  he  will  have  persuaded 
himself  that  I  gave  it  to  him — I  know  him  so 
well." 

'  Mrs.  Mitford  did  not  return  Helen's  smile.  This 
latest  piece  of  intelligence  was  perplexing.     Per* 


A  MATTEX   OF  SKILL.  t% 

haps  her  own  judgment  had  erred  on  the  side  of 
kindness.  If  Mr.  Flight  fancied  himself  encouraged 
by  this  short  interview,  there  would  probably  be  a 
repetition  of  those  trying  scenes  which  had  annoyed 
the  Rector,  vexed  herself,  maddened  her  daughter, 
and  saddened  the  lover. 

Somewhat  grave,  and  in  silence,  she  aided  in  put- 
ting the  finishing  touches  to  Helen's  packing,  ac- 
companied her  in  the  fly  to  the  station,  and  saw 
her  safely  ensconced  in  the  corner  of  an  over- 
crowded and  very  hot  third-class  carriage. 

This  traveling  third-class  was  a  trial  to  the  com- 
fort-loving, proud  girl.  Poverty  at  home,  where 
her  position  was  assured,  where  every  one  knew 
that  her  pedigree  was  unimpeachable  and  that  her 
own  and  her  parents'  friends  ranked  high  in  the 
neighborhood,  was  poverty  stingless  and  bearable. 
She  never  thought  or  openly  grumbling  at  the 
necessity  of  this  economy,  but  to  her  mind  the  pos- 
session of  a  third-class  ticket  seemed  a  proclama- 
tion of  penury  —  a  humiliating  testimony  that 
stamped  her  a  pauper. 

A  railway  journey  was  an  infliction  under  such 
circumstances.  How  high  she  held  her  head,  how 
closely  her  lips  closed,  how  very  stately  her  bear- 
ing throughout  the  ordeal !    Woe  to  the  porter  who 


25  A   MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

hustled  her  along  ?— woe  to  the  loquacious  commer- 
cial traveler  who  addressed  her  familiarly  !  To 
navies,  market-women— however  big  their  baskets 
or  however  troublesome  their  children— and  such 
folk  she  was  sweet  and  gracious  ;  from  the  other 
classes  of  society  she  held  herself  aloof. 

"There  are  a  great  many  people  traveling  to-day, 
Helen,"  Mrs.  Mitford  remarked,  coming  up  to  the 
carriage  window  at  the  last  moment.  "The  sta- 
tion master  says  the  train  is  overcrowded  :  there  are 

the  races  at to-morrow.      If  I  had  known  it 

before,  you  should  have  waited  until  the  end  of  the 
week.  Good-by,  dear.  Don't  forget  you  change 
at  Exeter.  Your  purse  is  in  your  bag.  Write  to- 
night.    Good-by— good-by  !" 

With  mighty  puffs  and  hissing  pants  the  train 
moved  slowly  out  of  the  hot  station,  and  Miss  Mit- 
ford's  penance  began.      How  bitter  that  penance 
would  prove,  she  was  fortunately  unconscious,  but  ( 
even  the  start  was  sufficiently  distasteful. 

Nine  different  persons  lolling  in  nine  different 
attitudes  overfilled  the  narrow  carriage  upon  which 
a  July  sun  streamed  from  a  cloudless  sky  ;  the  at- 
mosphere therein  was  hot  with  a  heavy,  fiery  heat, 
which  was  insufferable.  Through  the  open  win- 
dow  a  stifling  showers  of  dust,  sand,  and  blacks, 


A  Matter  of  skill.  tj 

that  powdered  the  faces  and  clothes  of  the  trav- 
elers. 

It  was  too  hot  for  Helen  to  read  or  doze,  or  watch 
the  dazzling  landscape  reeling  past;  her  companions 
were  not  of  prepossessing  appearance,  but  from 
beneath  the  shadow  of  her  broad-brimmed  hat  she 
investigated  them.  Beside  her  sat  a  lean  man, 
whose  garb  proclaimed  him  a  dissenting  minister, 
and  whose  fixed  and  benignant  smile  declared  him 
to  be  impervious  alike  to  the  discomforts  of  the 
weather  and  to  the  inferiority  of  his  fellows.  A 
smart  young  woman  in  a  green  beige  gown,  and 
wearing  a  large  cotton- velvet  hat,  from  which  long 
feathers,  dank  and  curlless  from  the  heat,  trailed 
spiritlessly,  sat  in  the  corner  opposite  Helen.  She 
held  Modern  Society,  that  paper  dear  to  the  serv- 
ants' hall,  in  her  soiled,  gloveless  hands  ;  but  she 
was  not  reading,  she  was  half- asleep;  now  and  again 
she  opened  her  eyes  and  glanced  with  a  swift,  keen 
glance  at  Miss  Mitford.  Beyond  this  girl  a  spruce 
man,  very  neat  and  trim,  leaned  languidly  against 
the  unyielding  cushions  at  his  back  in  an  attitude 
which  was  probable  an  exact  imitation  of  his  mas- 
ter's. He  was  a  servant,  Helen  decided — a  gentle- 
man's gentleman — a  valet.  The  remainder  of  the 
company  belonged  to  that  unattractive  portion  of 


28  A  MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

humanity,  the  third-class  racing  man,  whose  per- 
sonal appearance,  let  us  charitably  conclude,  is  the 
worst  part  of  him,  for  the  task  of  finding  a  step 
balks  the  imagination. 
1  The  intense  heat  was  so  enervating,  the  glare  was 
so  intolerable,  that  Helen  soon  lay  back  in  her  cor- 
ner of  the  carriage  and,  covering  her  aching  eyes 
with  her  hand,  abandoned  herself  to  a  don't-care 
lassitude,  which  took  interest  in  no  one  or  nothing. 
The  train  by  which  she  was  traveling  was  express  ; 

it  would  stop  only  at ,  where  the  races  were  to 

be  held,  and  at  Exeter,  at  which  place  she  had  to 
change  both  train  and  platform.  Helen  was  usually 
an  anxious  traveler,  but  that  day  she  was  conscious 
only  of  the  melting  atmosphere  and  her  own  smart- 
ing eyelids  and  many  discomforts. 

Once  or  twice  Helen  uncovered  her  eyes  to  draw 
out  her  watch,  but,  after  glancing  at  it,  with  an 
j  impatient  sigh,  she  replaced  it  in  her  belt,  depressed 
'  at  finding  how  slowly  the  lagging  time  crept  past. 
This  watch  of  hers  was  a  cherished  possession ;  on 
her  twentieth  birthday  it  had  been  given  her  by  a 
rich  and  favorite  uncle,  and  it  was  the  only  piece  of 
valuable  jewelry  she  owned.  It  was  an  enameled 
hunter,  small,  and  of  exquisite  workmanship  ;  her 
initials,  H.  M.;  were  traced  in  diamonds  upon  the 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL.  »9 

case.  The  eyes,  both  of  the  spruce  man  and  of  the 
tawdy  young  woman,  were  caught  by  the  glitter  of 
the  brilliants,  and  each  looked  with  some  renewed 
curiosity  at  its  owner. 

The  dust,  the  glare,  the  intolerable  heat,  became  , 
each  moment  more  unendurable;  it  was  a  vast  relief 
to  leave  the  dazzling  sunshine  and  rush,  though 
only  for  three  minutes,  into  a  dark  and  compara- 
tively cool  tunnel.  Helen's  eyes  were  still  shielded 
by  her  hand,  and  she  was  leaning  back  in  her 
corner. 

"Allow  me  to  pull  up  the  window,  Miss," 
said  the  lean  man,  getting  up  as  he  spoke  to 
fulfill  his  suggestion,  "for  the  smoke  is  something 
hawful." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  she,  shrinking  as  far  as  pos- 
sible from  the  speaker. 

"  It  is  a  warm  day,"  the  smart  young  lady  oppo- 
site remarked,  mincingly. 

"I  call  it  'ot,"  said  the  dissenting  minister,  still 
busy  with  the  window. 

' '  You  have  knocked  the  paper  out  of  my  hand, 
sir,"  remonstrated  the  smart  young  lady,  with  in- 
dignation. "  I  should  be  obliged  if  you  would  be  a 
little  more  careful." 

"  No  offense ;  if  I  knocked  it  down  I'll  pick  it  up. 


30  A   MATTER   OF  SKILL, 

No  damage  done  and  no  time  wasted,  for  you  can't 
see  to  read  in  the  dark." 

The  tone  of  the  discussion  was  pugnacious;  Helen 
was  alarmed  lest  the  difference  might  lead  to  a 
quarrel ;  such  a  quarrel  would  be  most  unpleasant. 
Hot  as  she  had  been  before,  she  grew  still  hotter  at 
this  prospect.  But  her  fears  were  groundless, 
though  there  was  some  excitement  as  the  two  com- 
batants stooped  at  the  same  moment — their  heads 
consequently  coming  in  sharp  contact — to  pick  up 
Modem  Society.  Neither  lost  their  temper;  on  the 
contrary,  they  first  apologized  and  then  laughed 
with  praiseworthy  amiability. 

Just  after  this  occurrence  the  train  slackened 
speed,  and  after  emerging  from  the  tunnel  drew  up 

alongside  the  platform  of  ,  where  the  racing 

men,  the  dissenting  minister,  and  the  smart  young 
lady  presently  alighted,  leaving  Helen  and  the  gen- 
tleman's gentleman  sole  occupants  of  the  carriage. 

Helen  drew  a  long  sigh  of  relief  as  they  departed, 
even  though  she  thought  it  probable  that  the  man 
with  whom  she  was  now  alone  would  prove  either 
a  drunkard,  or  a  lunatic,  or,  at  the  best,  a  hypnotist. 
She  surveyed  him  furtively  from  beneath  her  lashes; 
he  did  not  look  very  dangerous,  and  as  he  soon 
moved  to  the  corner  of  the  compartment  most  dis- 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL.  31 

tant  from  her,  put  his  feet  on  the  opposite  seat,  took 
off  his  hat  and  opened  a  thin  pinkish  paper,  in  the 
perusal  of  which  he  was   speedily  engrossed,  she 

I  gradually  composed  her  nerves. 
Indeed  he  was  so  motionless,  he  yawned  so  sane- 
ly, and  was  altogether  such  a  reassuring  com- 
panion, that  she  shortly  forgot  both  her  fears  and 
his  presence,  and  with  her  head  bolstered  against 
the  uneasy  cushion  behind  her,  with  her  chin  up- 
tilted,  with  her  weary  body  swaying  at  each  motion 
of  the  carriage,  she  was  rocked  by  degrees  into  a 
deep,  dreamless  slumber.  The  sun  poured  on  her 
pale  face  from  which  the  heat  had  sucked  all 
vestige  of  color,  her  long  lashes  swept  the  delicate 
curve  of  her  cheeks,  her  slim  hands,  ringless,  bare, 
and  very  white,  lay  clasped  upon  her  lap. 

Once  or  twice  the  man  lowered  the  pinkish  paper 
to  his  knee,  and  turned  his  shrewd  eyes  inquisi- 
tively upon  her.  He  was  a  discriminating  and  ob- 
servant person,  and  he  was  puzzled  how  to  allot 
this  ' '  sleeping  beauty  "  her  right  place  in  the  social 
scale.  She  was  too  spirited  and  self-reliant  for  a 
governess,  and  she  was  too  poorly  clad  to  be  a  gen- 
uine West-ender  traveling  thus  humbly  by  way  of 
novelty,  and  yet  his  educated  eyes  recognized  her 
p&  a  lady  bred  and  born. 


32  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

The  express  had  entered  among  the  wooded  vales 
and  gentle  hills  of  South  Devonshire,  before  Helen, 
with  a  sudden  start,  awoke.  A  piercing  whistle 
had  aroused  her.  She  sat  upright,  set  her  hat 
straight,  passed  her  hands  carefully  over  her  ruffled 
hair,  adjusted  her  collar  and  cuffs,  and  yawned. 
Her  unobtrusive  companion  was  still  reading  his 
paper,  and  did  not  look  up. 

The  fiery  sun  still  streamed  down  on  the  melting 
country,  the  burning  air  was  stifling,  clouds  of 
fine  dust  floated  in  the  track  of  the  train. 

Wondering  how  long  a  space  of  time  she  had 
cheated  from  this  purgatory  in  sleep,  Helen  put  her 
hot  hand  down  to  her  belt  and  felt  for  her  watch. 
It  was  not  there  !  Dangling  from  a  button  of  her 
bodice  hung  her  short  watch  chain,  but  though  the 
swivel  of  the  chain  was  unbroken,  the  watch  was 
no  longer  attached  to  it ;  while  she  had  slept  it  had, 
it  must  have  become,  unfastened.  It  was  the  first  j 
time  such  an  accident  had  happened.  \ 

Startled  at  this  discovery  she  began  to  search 
hurriedly,  with  eager  finger,  behind  her  waist-belt 
for  the  missing  treasure,  but  she  searched  in  vain. 
No  watch  was  there.  Then,  as  a  last  hope,  she  un- 
buckled her  belt,  took  it  off,  shook  it  violently,  as 
though  she  fancied  that  the  watch  might,  by  a 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL.  $$ 

superb  conjuring  trick,  have  been  concealed  in  the 
leather,  and  cried,  in  a  tragic  voice  of  despair — 

"It  has  gone  !" 

Meanwhile,  unobserved,  by  the  preoccupied  girl, 
the  train  had    stopped,    the  whistle    which   had, 
awakened  her,  had  heralded  the  vicinity  of  Exeter. 

Cries  of  "Tickets  ready  !"  were  now  to  be  heard 
approaching;  but  Helen  heard  nothing. 

"Have  you  lost  anything,  ma'am?"  the  shrewd- 
faced  man  inquired,  with  respectful  interest. 

"My  watch,"  she  answered  breathlessly.  "I 
looked  at  it  just  now — I  had  it  in  the  carriage  here 
— it  has  gone ! " 

Eising  to  her  feet  she  shook  her  serge  skirt,  she 
stooped  to  look  under  the  seats,  she  minutely  ex- 
amined the  cracks  of  the  dust-strewed,  dirty  floor, 
she  peered  into  possible  and  impossible  places,  but 
she  did  not  find  her  watch.  Her  companion  assist- 
ed in  the  search.  As  they  were  thus  engaged,  the  j 
door  was  opened,  and  a  porter,  hot,  and  consequent-  \ 
ly  cross,  demanded  "Tickets"  gruffly. 

Helen's  little  traveling-bag  lay  on  the  seat,  she 
took  it  up — it  was  already  open — and  looked  into  it. 
It  was  empty,  her  purse  had  gone  !  In  stunned 
amazement  she  stared,  speechless,  at  the  ticket  col- 
lector. 


34  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

"Look  sharp,  Miss,"  he  said,  imperiously,  to 
this  dawdling  third-class  passenger,  who  seemed  to 
consider  his  time  of  no  more  value  than  her  own. 
Neith3r  his  tone  nor  her  discovery  tended  to  soothe 
Miss  Mitford's  feelings.  The  purse  containing  her 
ticket  was  gone,  she  had  placed  in  her  bag,  which 
she  had  carefully  shut.  The  bag  was  wide  open 
now  and  empty.  Her  cherished  watch,  all  her 
money,  and  her  ticket,  were  alike  lost.  Here  was 
an  overwhelming  calamity  ! 

The  short  familiar  tones  of  the  porter  braced  her 
courage  hy  rousing  her  indignation  ;  if  she  had  not 
been  annoyed,  it  was  possible  that  these  misfor- 
tunes, combined  with  the  overpowering  heat  of  the 
day,  might  have  affected  her  to  tears.  As  it  was 
she  held  out  the  open  and  empty  bag  toward  the 
porter  with  tragic  dignity. 

"  My  purse  was  in  this  bag  when  I  left  Meriton 
Station,"  she  said,  with  dismay  in  her  voice,  "  and," 
touching  the  dangling  watch-chain,  "  my  watch  was 
fastened  firmly  to  this  chain.  Both  my  purse  and 
my  watch  are  gone;  I  have  lost  them  both,  but  how, 
or  where,  or  when,  I  have  not  the  slightest  idea." 

"Stolen,"  said  the  porter,  shortly. 

Helen  looked  thunderstruck,  and  the  shrewd- 
eyed  man  nodded  like  a  Mandarin. 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL.  35 

"  The  young  lady  was  wearing  a  very  handsome 
watch  set  with  brilliants,"  he  volunteered,  address- 
ing the  porter.  "It  was  an  enameled  hunter  as  far 
as  I  could  see  from  where  I  sat  in  the  carriage.  She 
took  it  out  and  looked  at  it  more  than  once  before 
we  reached " 

"Do  you  know  the  lady?"  inquired  the  porter, 
looking  hard  at  the  man.  "  Are  you  acquainted  ? 
Is  she  a  friend  of  yours  ?" 

"I  have  never  seen  the  young  lady  in  my  life 
until  to-day.  I  was  in  the  train  when  she  got  in  at 
Meriton." 

Then  the  porter  leaned  out  of  the  carriage  and 
called  loudly  for  "Bill,"  who,  in  the  shape  of  another 
porter,  presently  arrived,  accompanied  by  the  guard 
and  a  policeman,  by  whom  Helen  was  questioned 
closely,  and  by  whom  her  companion  was  keenly 
scrutinized.  The  train  which  had  halted  outside 
the  station  in  order  that  the  tickets  might  be  col- 
lected, now  proceeded  into  St.  David's  station,  the 
policeman  and  "Bill "  remaining  in  the  carriage,  the 
former  still  cross-examining  Miss  Mitf ord  and  keep- 
ing a  watchful  eye  on  the  man.  Helen  told  her 
short  story  concisely  ;  she  was  not  the  kind  of 
woman  who  outwardly  loses  her  head  or  grows 
confused  in  an  unpleasant  emergency  ;  though,  in 


36  A  MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

truth,  she  was  frightened  and  miserable  at  heart, 
she  preserved  a  dignity  of  manner  calculated  to 
freeze  her  interrogators. 

When  the  train  drew  up  alongside  the  crowded 
Exeter  platform,  the  man  with  whom  Helen  had  j 
traveled  collected  his  belongings  and  was  about  to 
leave  the  carriage,  had  not  the  policeman   inter- 
posed, civilly  enough,  but  decidedly. 

"I  am  sorry,  sir,  but  we  shall  want  to  speak  to 
you.  The  circumstances  are  not  altogether  satis- 
factory, I'm  afraid.     Before  reaching this  lady 

looked  at  her  watch,  it  was  safe  then.     She  falls 

asleep  almost  immediately  on  leaving  ,   you 

were  alone  in  the  carriage  with  her ;  when  she 
awakes  the  watch  is  gone,  likewise  the  purse.  The 
circumstances,  as  you'll  allow,  are  not  satisfac" 
tory,  and  it  is  my  duty  to  sift  them  to  the  bot- 
tom." 

The  man  turned  first  red  and  then  very  pale. 

"Then  you  suspect  me  of  stealing?"    he  de-  ; 
manded,  and  the  dismay  in  his  voice  touched  Helen ; 
she  turned  her  gray  eyes   compassionately   upon 
him. 

"I  am  quite  sure  he  did  not  do  it,"  she  said, 
quickly,  addressing  the  policeman. 

"Thank  you,  ma'am,"  said  the  man. 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL.  tf 

u  What  reason  have  you  for  saying  that  Miss  V 
inquired  the  policeman,  sternly. 

"I  can  see  he  is  an  honest  man,"  Helen  answered; 
her  feminine  logic  was  not  convincing. 

"  She  had  none  other  than  a  woman's  reason, 
She  thought  him  so,  because  she  thought  him  so." 

The  policeman  smiled  grimly. 

u  He  will  have  to  prove  himself  an  honest  man 
by  turning  out  his  pockets  for  one  thing,  and  giving 
a  satisfactory  account  of  himself  for  another.  Will 
you  kindly  oblige  me  with  your  name,  sir,  your 
business,  and  your  destination  ?" 

"  No  difficulty  about  the  one  or  the  other.  My 
name  is  Smithers,  William  Smithers,  native  of  Bar- 
ford,  county  of  Warwick.  I'm  a  gentleman's  serv- 
ant, valet  to  Mr.  Albert  Jones,  who  is  traveling  in 
a  first-class  smoking- compartment  in  the  front  part 
•  of  this  train.  We  are  on  our  way  to  Newton  Hall, 
Noelcombe,  North  Devon,  the  seat  of  Sir  Adolphus 
Jones,  Knight — father  to  my  master." 

The  policeman  listened  to  this  explanation  atten- 
tively, then  turned  with  a  wise  and  skeptical  smile 
to  Bill. 

uWe  must  find  this  Mr.  Albert  Joues,  Bill,"  he 
said. 


$8  A  MATTER  OF  SKttL. 

At  that  moment  there  hurried  past  the  carriage 
window,  a  tall  good-looking  young  man  whose  face 
was  wrinkled  with  a  frown,  and  who  scanned  the 
crowd  upon  the  platform  in  evident  and  impatient 
search  for  some  one  whose  duty  it  was  to  be  found. 

' s That  is  my  master,"  cried  Mr.  Smithers,  with 
a  note  of  triumph  in  his  voice. 

"  Ask  the  gentleman  to  step  here  a  moment,"  said 
the  policeman,  addressing  "Bill." 

"I  must  get  out,"  Helen  said,  desperately.  "I 
have  to  change  trains  here,  I  can  not  wait." 

uWe  must  settle  up  this  matter,  before  you  go, 
Miss." 

"Then  we  must  settle  it  outside,  on  the  platform. 
I  can  not  stay  here." 

As  she  spoke,  "Bill,"  accompanied  by  the  gentle- 
man, reached  the  door,  which  stood  open.  This  Mr. 
Albert  Jones  was  of  prepossessing  appearance.  He 
was  a  handsome,  prosperous,  genial,  young  man. 
His  easy  temper  was  very  seldom  ruffled,  indeed  a 
less  contented  man  than  he  could  have  found  little 
to  grumble  at  in  his  smooth  and  golden  path.  But 
just  now  he  looked  hot  and  irritated,  and  he  spoke 
angrily. 

"What  on  earth  is  all  this  about,  Smithers"? 
Why  on  earth  will  you  travel  third  when  I  pay  for 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL.  39 

your  second-class  ticket  ?  You  are  so  infernally 
economical  that  you  deserve  to  be  locked  up  V 
Then  catching  sight  of  Helen's  figure  from  behind 
the  policeman,  whither  she  had  withdrawn  on  his  - 
approach,  he  went  on  with  charitable  interest  and  [ 
some  condescension.  "If  that  is  the  person  who 
fancies  Smithers  has  got  her  purse,  I  can  assure  her 
that  she's  mistaken.  Smithers  don't  rob  me  so  I 
am  sure  he  would  not  rob  her.  But  if  she  can't  get 
home  without  a  ticket,  I  hope  she  will  allow  me  to 
provide  her  with  any  money  she  may  want.'1 

This  open-handed  generosity,  this  convenient 
suggestion  should  surely  have  been  received  with 
gratitude  and  thanks,  but  exasperated,  robbed, 
proud  Helen  chose  to  be  offended.  With  the  mein 
of  an  affronted  princess  she  pushed  her  way  past 
the  policeman  and  answered  this  overbearing  gen- 
tleman with  extraordinary  dignity  and  coldness. 

"  I  did  not  think  that  your  man  had  stolen  my 
things.  I  knew  he  had  not.  And  I  want  nothing 
but  to  be  allowed  to  leave  the  carriage.  Would  you 
kindly  let  me  pass  ?" 


40  A  MATTM  OF  SKILL; 


CHAPTER  III. 

"  Whose  humble  means  watch  not 

His  haughty  spirit."  kespeaee. 

1WTISS  Mitford's  voice,  face  and  manner  wei  • 
*"*  unexpected  as  to  be  a  little  startling.  But  the 
young  man  instantly  stood  aside  and  raised  his  hat 
with  an  ingratiating  smile.  He  smiled,  not  because 
he  found  her  manner  amusing,  but  because  it  was 
his  habit  to  smile  whei  nceraed. 

They  were  always  so  gracious  to  him  that  he 

had  never  yet  found  occasion  to  frown  in  their  com- 
pany. He  half  offered  his  hand  to  help  her  to 
alight  from  the  carriage  but  he  was  just  a  moment 
too  late,  she  was  already  on  the  platform. 

She  found  that  the  train  to  Noelcombe  was  behind 
its  time,  it  would  not  be  in  for  half  an  hour.  Dur- 
ing the  earlier  part  of  that  interval,  Smithers,  who 
was  now  exonerated  from  ion,  and  Helen, 

formed  the  nucleus  of  a  group  consisting  of  several 
officials,  the  policeman  and  Smither  er,  who, 

to  that  young  pel  entered  with 


R   OF  SKILL.  41 

officious  interest  into  the  discussion  concerning  her 
loss.  He  was  a  young  man  of  some  energy,  and 
energy  to  those  who  live  idle  lives  in  a  superfluous 
\  possession  of  which  they  are  glad  to  find  opportu- 
nity to  rid.themselves.  Besides  which  Miss  Mitford 
was  an  unusually  pretty  girl  and  in  distress.  So 
he  took  the  investigation  of  the  affair  into  his  own 
hands,  directed  every  measure  which  was  adopted 
for  the  recovery  of  the  property,  asked  a  hundred 
questions  and  showed  some  talent  for  the  detective 
trade. 

The  cross-examination  to  which  she  was  com- 
pelled to  submit  was  not  the  least  unpleasant  part 
of  this  unfortunate  day.  At  length,  the  subject, 
exhaustive  as  it  proved,  was  brought  to  an  abrupt 
conclusion  by  the  arrival  of  the  Plymouth  Zulu. 
Helen  withdrew  to  the  ladies'  waiting-room  where 
she  sat,  sulking,  in  the  stifling  heat  of  that  crowded 
room.  She  was  cross,  hot,  tired,  but  she  was  glad 
to  escape  f torn  her  undesirable  notoriety  and  still 
more  glad  to  be  quit  of  the  persistent  gaze  and 
searching  interrogations  of  that  complacent  son  of 
the  low-born,  purse-proud  Sir  Adolphus  Jones, 
whose  condescending  attentions  were  intolerable. 

She,  whose  family-tree  reared  its  distant  branches 
into  the  most  lofty  circles,  she,   whose  ancestors 


4*  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

(like  all  other  orthodox  ancestors)  came  over  with 
the  Conqueror,  she,  whose  pride  was  cultured  and 
excessive,  had  been  found  in  humiliating  third- 
class  circumstances  by  this  first-class  passenger. 
Such  an  offense  could  not  be  lightly  condoned. 
The  freedom  of  his  earlier  remarks,  his  masterful 
patronage  and  officious  arrangement  of  her  busi- 
ness were  all  alike  distasteful. 

He  was  so  unconscious  of  his  offenses,  so  certain 
of  her  gratitude,  and  so  good-humoredly  assured  of 
his  supreme  authority,  that  she  felt  helpless  in  his 
hands.  She  heard  him  tell  the  officials  "  that  as  he 
too  was  going  to  Noelcombe  by  the  next  train,  he 
would  look  after  the  lady  and  see  that  she  reached 
her  journeys  end  in  safety,"  and  could  find  no  rea- 
son for  remonstrating  at,  or  contradicting  his  asser- 
tion. 

Beggars  can  not  be  choosers,  and  it  is  generally 
understood  that  they  should  be  most  grateful  for 
any  favor,  however  small,  which  is  thrust  upon 
them.  Indeed,  Helen  was  glad — truly  thankful— 
to  be  spared  the  discomfort  necessarily  attending  a 
journey  which  was  to  be  performed  without  ticket, 
money  or  companion. 

Beneath  an  armor  of  pride  which  counterfeited 
self-reliance,  Helen  concealed  a  courage  no  stouter 


A  Matter  of  skill.  43 

and  nerves  no  tougher  than  those  owned  by  her 
gentler  sisters ;  her  braveness  and  her  composure 
were  but  skin-deep.  When  a  porter  came  into  the 
waiting-room  and  told  her  that  the  train  in  which 
she  was  to  travel  was  due,  and  when  she  found  her 
self -elected  conductor  awaiting  her  at  the  door,  she 
was  glad  of  his  protection. 

"  The  train. won't  be  in  for  ten  minutes,"  he  said, 
at  once.  "  I  hope  you  don't  mind  my  having  sent 
for  you,  but  I  thought  you  would  like  a  cup  of  tea, 
or  something  before  you  go  on." 

Could  anything  be  kinder  or  more  considerate  ? 
The  very  words,  "  a  cup  of  tea,"  are  refreshing  to 
the  female  sex.  Helen's  head  ached,  and  she  realized 
that  she  was  extremely  thirsty  ;  she  imagined  the 
comfort  of  a  cup  of  tea,  and  yet  she  preferred  her 
thirst  and  her  weariness  to  accepting  another  favor 
at  the  hands  of  this  stranger. 

He  was  looking  at  her  intently,  rather  more  in- 
tently than  he  would  have  looked,  perhaps,  had  he 
found  her  in  less  humble  circumstances.  He  had 
decided  that  she  was  a  governess— a  young,  much- 
to-be- pitied  dependent,  on  her  way  to  her  work, 
where  she  would  waste  her  beauty  in  a  dull  school- 
room among  lesson  books  and  naughty  children. 
He  was  intensely  compassionate  over  her   fate. 


44  A  MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

Unfortunately,  she  was  slightly  uncouth  and  abrupt, 
but  no  doubt  she  was  shy  and  a  little  overwhelmed 
by  the  interest  he  had  evinced  in  her  misfortunes. 

Mr.  Jones,  young,  good-looking,  popular  among 
his  fellow-men,  and  heir  to  a  prodigious  income,' 
was  not  likely  to  be  humble  or  blind  to  his  own  ad- 
vantages. 

The  kind  maidens  and  their  still  kinder  mothers, 
with  whom  he  came  in  contact  at  every  stage  of 
his  life,  had  flattered  and  cajoled  him  into  the  belief 
that  his  personal  attractions  were  irresistible.  Of 
the  more  substantial  attractions  which  he  possessed 
they  were  evidently  oblivious,  and  he,  to  do  him 
justice,  did  not  suspect  his  guileless  flatterers  of 
ulterior  designs,  but  accepted  their  proffered  friend- 
ship with  frank  pleasure,  ascribing  his  popularity 
with  the  fair  sex  to  any  reason  and  every  reason 
but  the  right  one.  He  had  proved  himself  neither 
|  a  susceptible  nor  a  sentimental  person.  It  has 
been  said  that  there  "is  safety  in  numbers,"  and 
Mr.  Jones  admired  a  very  great  many  damsels  very 
much.  Many  dovecotes  had  been  fluttered,  many 
hopes  had  been  raised  by  the  marked,  but  mean- 
ingless attentions,  which  he  so  impartially  be- 
stowed. 

With  an  appreciative  eye,  he  noted  the  beauty  of 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL.  4$ 

Miss  Mitford's  graceful  figure ;  the  turn  of  her 
throat,  the  erect  pose  of  her  head,  the  length  of  her 
curly  lashes,  the  dimple  that  cleft  her  round  chin, 
and  the  curve  of  her  short,  upper  lip.  She  was 
more  than  pretty — she  was  beautiful,  and  just  the 
style  of  girl  whom  he  admired ;  he  wished  to  see 
more  of  her  ;  he  would  like  to  hear  her  talk.  How 
silent  she  was,  and  how  solemn  —  saddened,  no 
doubt,  by  her  depressing  position.  He  would  like 
to  see  her  smile  ;  her  smile  ought  to  be  very  sweet ; 
there  was  a  suspicion  of  a  dimple  indenting  her  pale 
cheek.  How  white,  how.  travel- soiled,  how  grave 
she  looked:  He  was  so  sorry  for  her.  But  her  con- 
duct was  disappointing,  for  she,  with  frigid  polite- 
ness, refused  his  offer  of  tea,  and  turned  to  re-enter 
the  ladies'  waiting-room. 

"Why  not  wait  here  ?"  he  inquired,  earnestly. 

"  I  should  like  to  rest  until  the  train  is  in,"  with 
what  he  called  her  unfortunate  governess  man- 
ner. 

"  You  can  rest  out  here,"  pointing  to  an  adjacent 
bench;  "there  is  more  air  out  here.  It  is  much 
better  for  you  than  being  stifled  among  all  those 
women.  Do  come,  you  are  looking  so  awfully 
done  up,  and  I  will  bring  you  a  cup  of  tea  down 
here." 


46  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

But  the  waiting-room  door  had  closed  behind  her 
before  his  sentence  was  ended,  It  was  evident  that 
she  was  very  gauche,  but  it  was  also  evident  to  her 
observant  and  good-natured  companion  that  she 
was  tired  out ;  he  was  convinced  that  she  had  re- 
fused his  offer  from  some  other  motive  than  dis- 
inclination for  the  proffered  refreshment. 

"  It  is  an  awkward  thing  for  a  shy  girl  to  accept 
anything  from  a  strange  fellow,"  he  reflected.  "  I 
was  clumsy  :  I  must  manage  it  better.  She  shall 
have  her  tea,  I  swear,  for  I  know  she  is  dying 
for  it,"  and  he  walked  off  to  the  refreshment- 
room. 

A  few  minutes  later,  a  maid,  accompanied  by 
Smith ers,  and  carrying  tea,  cake,  biscuit,  and  a 
plate  filled  with  white-heart  cherries,  entered  the 
ladies'  waiting-room.  There,  at  Smither's  direc- 
tion, the  tray  was  placed  on  the  table  by  Helen's 
side,  with  the  words — 

"The  gentleman  desired  me  to  bring  these, 
ma'am." 

The  retreating  figure  showed  no  consciousness  of 
Helen's  quick  disclaimer — 

"  It  is  a  mistake.  I  ordered  nothing — I  want 
nothing." 

The  tea  and  those  seductive  cherries  stood  un- 


A   MATTER   OF  SKILL.  47 

tasted  at  this  foolish  girl's  elbow  ;  she  looked  at 
them  wistfully,  but  she  touched  them  not.  When 
her  train  came  into  the  station,  she  felt  that  she 
]  was  turning  her  back  on  a  terrible  temptation,  as 
;  she  bustled  out  upon  the  crowded  platform,  where 
she  was  immediately  joined  by  Mr.  Jones. 

" This  way  if  you  please.  I've  got  you  a  carriage. 
My  man  will  see  to  your  luggage ;  it  is  with 
mine." 

And  he  hustled  her  on  till  they  reached  an  empty 
compartment,  the  door  of  which  was  held  open  by 
Smithers. 

"I  am  traveling  third,"  she  said,  glancing  within 
the  carriage.     "  This  is  first." 

"  The  man — the  who-do-you-call  it  at  the  ticket 
office  " — stammering  over  the  prevarication — "gave 
me  a  first-class  ticket  for  you." 

[As  indeed  he  had  done,  and  had  been  paid  for  it, 
too.] 

"Thank  you,  but  I  like  third  best;  it— it  is 
coolest." 

"As  you  please."  This  girl  was  less  shy  than 
disagreeable  after  all.  "I  am  going  in  there,"  indi- 
cating the  smoking-carriage  next  door,  "so  you 
would  get  this  place  to  yourself.  The  rest  of  the 
train  is  very  much  crowded." 


48  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

Helen  hesitated.  She  believed  that  the  white 
ticket  which  he  held  had  been  provided  by  the  gen- 
erosity of  the  railway  company ;  she  also  believed 
that  by  a  fortunate  coincidence — not  by  bribery  and ! 
corruption— the  selected  compartment  happened  to  | 
be  empty — the  only  empty  compartment  in  the  full 
train. 

Smithers,  with  respectful  mien,  patiently  held  the 
door  open.  "Take  your  seat !  "  shouted  a  porter  at 
her  elbow.  An  eager  crowd  of  excited  excursionists 
surged  past;  a  drunken  man  staggered  close  to  her. 
Mr.  Jones  said  nothing,  but  preserved  an  indifferent 
air.  The  drunken  man  settled  the  question.  Helen 
shrunk  away  in  disgust  from  him,  and  saying,  "I 
really  think  I  will  go  in  here,"  entered  the  carriage 
precipitately,  and  with  some  loss  of  dignity. 

"There  was  an  excursion  to  Exeter  from  Barn- 
staple to-day,"  Mr.  Jones  explained.  "They  go  back 
by  this  train.  We  shall  get  rid  of  the  crowd 
there." 

He  was  standing  on  the  platform,  still  with  his 
hand  on  the  sill  of  the  open  window.  He  was  think- 
ing that  it  would  hav.e  been  pleasanter  to  travel  with 
this  handsome  girl  than  to  smoke  next  door.  He 
was  in  search  of  an  excuse  to  change  his  mind  and 
join  her.    Miss  Mitf ord,  with  a  calm  and  unap- 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL.  49 

proachable  mien,  returned  his  steady  gaze.  An 
excuse  was  not  easy  to  find,  but  just  before  the 
train  started  he  gave  her  an  inkling  of  his  intention 
by  his  last  words — 

"You  will  find  some  papers  in  there  1  you  care 
to  look  at  them.  I  shall  see  you  again  at  Barn- 
staple ;  I  shall  have  done  my  smoke  by  that  time. 
Au  revoir." 

"  He  means  to  travel  with  me  from  Barnstaple  to 
Noelcombe,"  Helen  concluded,  closing  her  lips  tight 
and  not  looking  amiable. 

That  is  precisely  what  he  had  meant,  and  what 
he  also  proceeded  to  do. 

At  Barnstaple  he  entered  the  carriage,  as  though 
it  was  a  matter  of  course  that  he  should  do  so, 
and  taking  the  seat  opposite  to  its  occupant,  he 
said — 

"I  hope  you  don't  mind  my  coming  in  here? 
There  was  such  a  lot  of  men  in  the  other  carriage 
that  they  smoked  me  out." 

She  made  some  inarticulate  sound  which  sug- 
gested her  indifference  to  his  movements. 

A  pile  of  illustrated  papers  lay,  where  he  had 
placed  them,  beside  her  on  the  seat.  He  pointed  at 
them,  and  asked  whether  she  had  been  reading. 

"It  is  too  hot  to  read/'  she  said. 


5o  A   MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  one  of  the  people  who  can 
never  read  in  a  train  ? " 

"I  read  sometimes." 

(f  It  makes  your  head  ache,  perhaps  ?" 

"  Yes,  it  does." 

' '  Does  it  make  your  head  ache  to  look  at  pict- 
ures ? " 

" No " — a  moment's  pause  ;  "but  talking  makes 
my  head  ache." 

"I'm  so  sorry  ;  that  is  particularly  unfortunate, 
for  I  have  a  question  or  two  which  I  really  must 
ask  you.  You  see,  I  ought  to  have  a  full  descrip- 
tion of  your .  watch  and  purse,  a  minute  account  of 
your  fellow- travelers — every  particular,  in  fact,  of 
the  circumstances  to  send  up  to  headquarters  as 
soon  as  possible.  I  am  sorry  to  trouble  you,  but  I 
want  it  down  in  black  and  white  ;  it  would  not  do 
to  trust  to  my  memory  in  any  important  business. " 

He  drew  out  a  book — it  might  have  been  a  note- 
book— and  pencil  from  his  breast  pocket,  and  began 
in  a  business-like  way  to  question  Helen,  and  write 
down  her  answers.  She  was  impressed  by  his  man- 
ner and  set  at  ease  by  this  explanation  of  his  in- 
trusion. 

"Your  name?" 

"  Helen  Mitford." 


A   MATTER   OF  SKILL.  51 

"You  came  from  Meriton,  you  said — started 
about  2:30?  How  far  do  you  live  from  the  sta- 
tion?" 

"Two  miles." 

He  entered  this  important  item  carefully. 

"  Meriton  is  a  pretty  village,"  he  remarked.  "  I 
have  often  passed  through  it  on  my  way  to  Dro- 
more." 

Helen  started  and,  looked  at  him. 

"  You  know  Dromore  ? "  he  pursued. 

"Yes." 

"The  Chilterns  are  awfully  nice  people." 

Lady  Chiltern  was  Helen's  cousin  and  most  inti- 
mate friend  ;  but  she  had  grown  frigid  again,  for 
what  had  the  Chilterns  to  do  with  the  notebook,  or 
the  theft  ? 

"Would  you  kindly  describe  your  fellow-trav- 
elers ? "  he  proceeded,  with  solemnity,  his  pencil 
poised  in  the  air  and  his  dark  eyes  watching  her  ex- 
pressive face. 

"  A  thin,  middle-aged  man — I  thought  he  was  a 
dissenting  minister — sat  next  to  me.  There  was  a 
woman — a  smart  women  with  feathers  and  dirty 
hands— opposite  to  me.  The  other  people  were 
men  ;  I  hardly  looked  at  them.  I  could  not  recog- 
nize either  of  them." 


5*  A   MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

"Poor  men  !"  murmured  the  gentleman,  writing 
in  his  book. 

This  superfluity  of  the  dialogue  was  a  mistake  on 
his  part.  A  delicate  color  rose  to  Helen's  cheek ; 
she  averted  her  eyes  and  her  attention  from  her  vis- 
a  vis,  and  fixed  them  on  the  landscape.  The  scen- 
ery through  which  they  were  passing  was  magnifi- 
cent. Great  hills,  topped  with  rugged  bowlders  of 
gray  granite,  clothed  with  short  turf  on  which 
droves  of  horned  sheep  were  browsing,  streaked  and 
belted  with  woods  of  oak  and  ash,  rose  almost  per- 
pendicularly from  out  the  smiling  valleys. 

In  those  valleys  herds  of  the  copper-red  Devon 
cows  cropped  the  meadows,  acres  of  young,  pale 
corn  undulated  in  the  mild  breeze.  Scarlet -tiled 
farms,  with  groups  of  yellowish  ricks  for  sentinels, 
were  scattered  here  and  there.  A  wide  river,  be- 
tween high  banks,  gleamed  in  the  sun. 

Helen  was  keenly  alive  to  beauty  ;  she  loved  the 
country,  and  the  sight  of  the  matchless  landscape 
of  North  Devon  was  a  revelation  of  wonder  and  de- 
light. It  left  her  capable  of  no  sensation  but  one 
of  pure  and  perfect  enjoyment. 

Mr.  Jones  was  not  wanting  in  penetration.  He 
replaced  his  note-book  with  a  smile  at  his  own  ex- 
pense, for  he  soon  saw  that  his  companion's  afcten- 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL.  53 

tion  was  absorbed  by  the  scenery,  at  which  she  was 
gazing  with  rapture  in  her  eyes,  a  pleased  smile  rip- 
pled her  mouth,,  and  that  she  had  forgotten  him. 

He  was  an  admirer  of  fine  scenery  himself — 
woods,  as  coverts,  and  mountain  streams  as  harbors 
for  trout,  were  always  particularly  interesting  to 
him  ;  but  while  Miss  Mitf  ord  looked  out  of  the  win- 
dow he  looked  at  her,  not  at  the  landscape.  They 
were  approaching  Noelcombe,  where  they  must  sep- 
arate, and  he  had  made  no  way  with  her.  If  he  al- 
lowed her  to  leave  him  thus,  it  was  probable  that 
he  should  see  her  no  more,  therefore  it  was  that 
he  must  draw  her  attention  to  himself  once  more. 
Hitherto  he  had  found,  with  her  amiable  sex,  such 
a  task  wonderfully  easy. 

He  began  again,  with  pencil  and  note-book,  his 
examination  and  cross-examination  on  the  well-worn 
topic.  This  was,  of  course,  a  little  tiresome,  but 
Helen  answered  with  great  precision  and  accuracy, 
and  with  her  eyes  on  the  window. 

"  Oh,  look,"  she  suddenly  cried,  with  a  deep- 
drawn  breath  of  happiness,  pointing  through  the 
open  window,  "  there  is  the  sea." 

A  blue  and  wrinkled  belt  of  water  glittered  be- 
tween a  cleft  hill,  at  the  sight  of  which  Mr.  Jones, 
on  being  thus  accosted,  expressed  rapture. 


54  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

"  Have  you  never  been  here  before  ? " 

"Never." 

"It  is  such  a  ripping  little  place,  I  know  you 
will  love  it.  Whereabouts  in  Noelcombe  are  you 
staying  ? " 

"I  don't  know  exactly  where  the  house  is." 

"I  might  have  to  see  you,  don't  you  know, 
about  this  business  ;  I  may  have  forgotten  to  ask 
you  some  important  question,  so  I  ought  to  know 
your  address." 

"  My  aunt  lives  at  Carnation  Cottage." 

For  some  time  his  governess  theory  about  her 
had  been  wavering  :  it  now  expired. 

"  How  long  shall  you  be  down  ?"  he  asked,  anx- 
iously. 

"I  do  not  know." 
\      "  You  will  be  here  until  the  week  after  next  \ " 

"Oh,  yes." 

"  I  shall  probably  hear  something  from  the  rail- 
-  way  company  in  a  few  days  ;  in  that  case  I  will  call 
_  and  tell  you  what  they  say — that  is,  if  you  will  allow 
me  to  do  so." 

"  Thank  you  ;  you  are  very  kind." 

The  words  were  unimpeachable,  but  the  tone 
in  which  they  were  uttered  was  not  encourag- 
ing. 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL.  $$ 

u  We  shall  be  very  lucky  if  we  can  hear  of  either 
watch  or  purse  again." 

The  "  we"  was  very  offensive  to  Miss  Mitford. 

"  Yes,  the  recovery  of  things  lost  in  that  way  is 
so  unlikely  that  I  am  exceedingly  sorry  that  you 
troubled  yourself  at  all  about  the  matter." 

She  was  very  dignified  and  grand,  but  he  was  not 
awed. 

"It  is  the  sort  of  search  I  like,"  he  said  frankly  ; 
"I  shall  be  as  proud  as  Lucifer  if  I  can  trace 
them.  If  it  can  be  done,  it  shall  be  done,  I  promise 
you." 

"  I  can't  see  how  you  are  going  to  do  it." 

"Leave  it  to  me,"  he  told  her,  with  a  smile  of 
superior  wisdom.  And  then  he  diplomatically  be- 
gan to  extol  the  glorious  country  through  which 
they  were  passing.  There  was  Morte  Point,  there 
the  merciful  lighthouse  which  guarded  the  ships  off 
that  sharp  peninsula  of  jagged  rocks,  there  was  the  j 
famous  Toro,  there  a  Druidical  stone,  there  a  crom- ( 
lech.  If  his  geography  was  inaccurate,  Helen  did 
not  discover  it,  but  listened  to  what  he  said  with  in- 
terest and  smiled  upon  him. 

But  when  the  travelers  reached  Noelcombe  Eoad 
poor  Helen  discovered  that  the  misfortunes  of  that 
unlucky  day  were  not  yet  over.      With  a  culpable 


56  A  MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

want  of  forethought,  Mr.  Jones  desired  her  to  inter- 
view station  master  and  ticket  collector  in  his  pres- 
ence. Out  came  his  note-book  again,  and  the  tedi- 
ous routine  of  endless  questions  which  she  had  al- 
ready answered  had  to  be  repeated.  At  the  time 
the  useless  delay  fretted  her,  but  when  at  last  she 
was  free,  and,  on  emerging  from  the  station,  found 
that  omnibuses  and  cabs  had  alike  started  for  Noel- 
combe,  leaving  her  and  her  box  five  miles  from 
her  destination,  she  was  dismayed  and  ready  to 
cry. 

"  Why  didn't  you  fetch  me  V  she  inquired,  mis- 
erably, of  a  porter;  "you  saw  me  here,  you  knew 
I  was  going  to  Noelcornbe.  Why  did  you  let  the 
omnibus  start  without  me  ?" 

"I  understood  you  were  along  of  Mr.  Jones, 
Miss,"  the  man  said  ;  "you  came  up  in  the  train 
along  o'  him.  His  man  went  on  in  the  cab,  but  the 
dogcart  is  outside  waiting." 

At  this  moment  Mr.  Jones  himself  approached 
and  asked  Helen  anxiously  what  was  wrong. 
When  she  had  explained  her  position  and  this  cul- 
minating misfortune,  he  was  extremely  concerned. 
He  rated  the  porter  with  great  severity  and  used 
unparliamentary  language  about  the  thick  heads  of 
the  west -country  people. 


A   MATTER   OF  SKILL.  57 

"However,"  he  added,  turning  to  Helen  with  a 
courtly  and  ingenous  air,  "  it  is  fortunate  that  my 
cart  is  here,  for,  as  I  am  going  your  way,  I  need  not 
tell  you  how  pleased  I  shall  be  to  drive  you  to  Car- 
nation Cottage." 

His  manner  was  very  happy.  If  Helen  had 
not,  by  an  abrupt  turn  of  her  head,  caught  sight 
of  a  meaning  grin  on  the  face  of  the  porter,  she 
would  most  likely  have  complied  gratefully 
with  this  suggestion,  but  that  grin  aroused  a  sus- 
picion in  her  mind  that  determined  her  immediate 
action. 

It  would  have  been  a  relief  to  have  said  something 
really  rude  to  this  presumptuous,  low-born  stranger ; 
her  eyes  were  dangerously  bright,  she  was  very 
angry.  With  a  meaningless  inclination  of  the  head 
she  waived  the  question,  and,  turning,  re-entered 
the  station.  After  giving  the  station  master  suc- 
cinct orders  for  the  forwarding  of  her  box  at  the 
earliest  opportunity,  she  inquired  of  him  her  way 
to  Noelcombe,  and  then,  without  looking  to  the  right 
hand  or  the  left,  set  off  at  a  rapid  pace  in  the  direc- 
tion indicated. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  unconscious  offender, 
Mr.  Jones,  climbed  into  his  cart  and  drove  off  after 
the  dark  figure,  which  was  already  at  some  distance. 


&8  A  MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

from  him,  and  upon  which  he  kept  his  eyes.  He 
wondered  why  she  would  not  start  with  him  ;  per- 
haps she  was  shy  of  the  people  at  the  station.  She 
had  not  seemed  a  bashful  young  woman  ;  no  doubt 
that  studiously  cold  way  of  hers  was  a  form  of  shy- 
ness. He  would  wait  until  she  turned  the  corner  of 
the  road,  and  was  consequently  out  of  sight  of  the 
station,  before  he  picked  her  up. 

How  well  and  how  quickly  she  moved.  Neither 
heat  nor  weariness  beat  down  her  erect  head  ;  how 
high  she  held  it.  Her  shoulders  were  rigid  as  she 
walked  ;  there  was  no  undulation,  nothing  gentle, 
nor  drooping  about  her  ;  she  had  an  uncompro- 
mising back.  The  sun  was  low  in  the  west,  the 
air  was  cooler  than  it  had  been  all  day,  a  fresh- 
ening evening  breeze  had  arisen,  yet  how  pale 
she  looked.  Poor  girl  she  was  tired  out.  He 
touched  the  horse  with  the  whip,  and  next  mo- 
ment was  alongside  of  her  and  addressing  her  by 
name. 

"  Miss  Mitford,  you  went  off  in  such  a  hurry  ; 
you  had  gone  in  a  moment,  before  I  knew  where 
you  were.  Please  get  in  as  quick  as  you  can,  the 
horse  won't  stand."  He  leaned  over  the  splash- 
board and  offered  her  his  hand  to  help  her  into  the 
cart. 


A   MATTER   OF  SKTLL.  59 

"  Thank  you,  but  I'm  going  to  walk  to  Noel- 
combe,"  she  answered,  moving  on  as  she  spoke. 
He  caught  sight  of  her  face  ;  there  was  animosity 
in  every  line  of  it. 

"  You  can't  walk,"  he  said,  "it  would  kill  you.  j 
It's  five  miles — more — and  an  awful  road — hills  the 
whole  way — hills  like  a  switchback." 

She  did  not  argue,  but  she  walked  on  faster  ;  he 
kept  the  cart  by  her  side. 

"I  assure  you  that  you  can't  walk,"  he  said,  a 
little  irritated  and  very  much  surprised.  "You 
don't  understand,  I  am  not  exaggerating — it  is  five 
miles  if  it  is  a  step.  You  don't  know  what  that 
distance  in  this  part  of  the  country  means.  You 
must  get  in — indeed,  you  must ;  you  are  tired  out 
already." 

"  Thank  you,  but  I  would  rather  walk  were  the 
distance  ten  times  greater  than  it  is." 

"  Under  those  circumstances  I  have  nothing  more 
to  say." 

And,  taking  off  his  hat  with  great  ceremony,  Mr. 
Jones  drove  off,  leaving  an  irritating  cloud  of  dust 
in  his  track. 

Before  the  cart  was  out  of  sight  Helen  had  re- 
pented her  decision. 

"I  was  a  fool,"  she  said,  "it  would  have  been 


6g  a  matter  of  SKILL 

better  to  have  driven  with  a  butcher  or  a  hangman 
than  this." 

"This"  was  a  long,   steep,    stony  hill,  which 
stretched  before  her. 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL. 


CHAPTER  IV.  ( 

I 

Long  lines  of  cliff  breaking  have  left  a  chasm  ;  I 

And  in  the  chasm  are  foam  and  yellow  sands  ; 

Beyond,  red  roofs  about  a  narrow  wharf 

In  cluster;  then  a  molder'd  church,  and  high 

A  long  street  climbs — 

Enoch  Arde 

'VTOELCOMBE  was  just  such  another  fishing- 
*■*  hamlet  as  that  home  of  Philip,  Enoch,  anal 
Annie,  above  described  ;  but  its  one  narrow  street, 
after  clambering  half-way  up  the  broken  cliff  -side,* 
was  met  and  lost  in  row  after  row  of  neat,  newly- 
built  lodging-houses. 

Marine  Parade,  Sea  View  Terrace,  and  West  Clint 
Place,  daily  disgorged,  during  the  season,  an  in- 
numerable army  of  "  visitors,"  for  whose  summer 
sea-blow  these  houses  had  been  lately  erected  by  the 
great  patron  of  the  village,  Sir  Adolphus  Jones, 
who,  in  a  speculative  way,  appreciated  the  attract- 
ive beauty  of  the  place. 

The  old  residents  of  Noelcombe  and  its  neighbor- 
hood—among whose  number  Sir  Adolphus  was  not 
—conservative  to  the  backbone,   regarded    those 


6z  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

horizontal  rows  of  remunerative  houses,  and  that 
enormous  mansion,  flanked  by  acres  of  glass,  and 
oversmart,  alike  in  color  and  design,  in  the  middle 
distance,  with  distinct  disfavor. 

But  the  county  patronized  Sir  Adolphus  and  his 
family;  rich  neighbors  who  owned  an  eligible  son, 
daughters,  too,  sufficiently  good  looking,  and  more 
than  sufficiently  dowered,  who  kept  open  house 
where  champagne  flowed  like  water,  where  a  French 
cook  presided  in  the  sumptuous  kitchen,  where  your 
presence  was  eagerly  welcomed,  and  where  your  wit 
was  sure  to  be  appreciated,  were  acquaintances  to 
be  cultivated. 

If  the  house  was  new,  it  was  none  the  less  lux- 
urious on  that  account.  So  the  county  smiled  good- 
humoredly,  at  Lady  Jones's  faux-pas,  replaced  Sir 
Adolphus's  H's  when  they  could  surreptitiously  do 
so,  shot  his  coverts,  fished  his  rivers,  sailed  in  his 
yacht,  and  ate  his  dinners,  availing  themselves, 
without  stint,  of  his  hospitality.  This  condescen- 
sion toward  this  patronage  of  the  Joneses  by  the  great 
people  around,  astonished  their  humbler  neighbors, 
who  could  trace  a  very  decent  descent  for  themselves 
and  knew  no  difficulties  of  H's  or  etiquette,  but  to 
whom  neither  great  people  nor  upstart  Joneses  paid 
attention  or  respect. 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL.  63 

To  neither  section — the  Jones-patronize rs  nor 
the  Jones -detesters — did  Miss  Elizabeth  Mitford  be- 
long, for  beyond  the  inclosing  cob-walls  of  her  gar- 
den she  had  no  interests  worthy  of  the  name.  With 
the  exception  of  the  mice  which  fed  on  her  bulbs 
and  crocus,  the  slugs,  snails,  wood-lice  and  wire- 
worms  that  she  slew  with  pitiless  ferocity,  or  those 
errand  boys  who  wantonly  sloshed  the  lovely  heads 
from  off  the  juicy  stalks  of  her  tulips,  or  who,  by 
leaving  the  gate  open,  allowed  strange  dogs  to  enter 
her  domain  and  ravish  her  flower-beds,  she  regarded 
all  humanity  with  placid  benevolence. 

Above  the  winding  village  street,  above  the 
highest  horizontal  row  of  offending  "  apartments  w 
(from  which  it  was  separated  by  a  wooded  glen), 
nestling  down  against  a  background  of  tall  trees, 
stood  Carnation  Cottage,  the  dainty  home  of  this 
gentle  maiden  lady  who  lived  her  guileless  life  sur- 
rounded by,  and  existing  for,  her  flowers. 

The  house  was  a  large,  many-roomed  cottage  ; 
the  porch  door  opened  into  a  square  hall,  which 
was  furnished  as  a  room,  the  narrow  bay  windows 
of  the  miniature  drawing-room  were  shaded  by 
overhanging  creepers  ;  above,  latticed  windows, 
fringed  with  flowers,  were  tucked  away  unevenly 
beneath  the  eaves  of  the  thached  roof. 


64  A  MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

Miss  Elizabeth  Mitford  was  in  face,  disposition, 
and  in  manner,  a  mild  caricature  of  her  brother, 
the  Eector. 

Her  gray  hair  was  arranged  in  rows  of  gradu- 
ated curls  on  either  side  of  her  tanned  and  weather-  j 
beaten  face,  her  long  nose  dipped  over  a  wide 
mouth  that  curled  up  at  the  corners  with  a  bland 
contentedness  which  was  almost,  but  not  quite,  a 
smile ;  her  chin  receded,  and  her  over-arched  eye- 
brows wrinkled  her  forehead  deeply,  and  left  her 
round  blue  eyes  wide  open. 

She  was  indifferent  to  her  appearance  but  not 
to  her  comfort.  For  the  sake  of  shade,  she  wore  a 
wide-brimmed  straw  hat,  bound,  for  the  sake  of 
security,  with  a  black  ribbon  beneath  her  chin.  For 
the  sake  of  coolness,  she  wore  a  light  chintz  gown, 
fashioned  with  a  view  to  ease,  not  elegance ;  for 
the  sake  of  convenience,  she  wore  no  gloves. 

I  have  described  her  in  her  gardening  garb,  and 
as  she  spent  the  greater  part  of  each  day  in  this ' 
pursuit,  and  often  snatched  an  hour  from  the  night 
for  murderous  sallies  on  slugs — which  is  a  form 
of  gardening — this  was  her  perpetual  summer  cos- 
tume. 

She  took  no  interest  in  herself,  she  lavished  all 
her  care  upon  the  beautifying  of  her  house  and  gar- 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL.  gj 

den,  and,  no  doubt,  she  was  wise  in  doing  so,  for 
they  repaid  her  attention  better  than  her  old  face 
and  bent  figure  could  have  done,  however  deftly 
decorated  by  art.  Her  little  rooms  were  the  pret- 
tiest, and  brightest,  and  cosiest  imaginable,  their  \ 
windows,  too,  commanded  a  glorious  view  of  the 
cove  [wherein  the  sea  swept  from  cliff  to  cliff]  and 
a  wide  stretch  of  neutral  sand  out  of  which  great 
rocks  thrust  their  dark  ribs  and  cast  black  shadows 
on  the  beach. 

The  atmosphere  within  a  hundred  yards  of  Car- 
nation cottage  was  redolent  of  flowers  ;  the  round 
grass  plot  before  the  house  was  edged  and  sprinkled 
with  beds  that  were  thick  with  blossom. 

A  small  conservatory  which  opened  out  of .  the 
drawing-room,  was  a  complete  blaze  of  color.  Miss 
Mitford's  plants  seemed  to  understand  and  respond 
to  their  owner's  love,  and  half -killed  themselves  to 
gratify  her  by  their  profuse  bloom.  j 

The  trellised  walls  of  the  cottage  were  concealed  , 
by  creeping  fuchsias,  and  myrtles,  which  were 
trained  so  as  to  completely  cover  them.  Against 
the  house  was  a  broad  bed  of  poppies,  their  scarlet 
and  yellow  petals  caught  the  rays  of  the  sinking  sun. 
On  the  window  ledges  were  tiled  boxes  filled  with 
mignonette,  lobelias,  and  marguerites.     An  old- 


66  A  MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

fashioned  border  of  hollyhocks,  sunflowers,  sweet 
peas,  candy-tuft,  honesty,  balsams,  phloxes,  and 
pansies  edged  the  gravel  walk  that  swept  round 
the  grass  plot  and  led  to  the  gate  through  which 
Carnation  Cottage  was  reached.  This  gate  was  no 
smart  entrance,  but  a  green  door  let  into  the  cob 
wall ;  by  its  side  was  a  bell-handle  mounted  on  a 
brass  plate,  on  which  the  direction,  "  Ring  and  walk 
in  "  was  engraved. 

On  the  center  of  the  lawn  a  tulip  tree  and  a 
standard  magnolia  grew  side  by  side,  beneath  them 
stood  a  rustic  garden  seat  on  which  Miss  Mitford 
was  now  sitting  ;  she  held  her  watch  in  her  hand,  at 
which  she  glanced  every  now  and  then,  with  evi- 
dent anxiety.  Presently  she  rose,  and  bustling 
over  to  the  garden  door  she  opened  it  and  prowled 
out  upon  the  road,  thence  she  soon  returned  very 
breathless  and  with  an  increased  anxiety  depicted 
on  her  face.  She  then  hurried  into  the  house  call- 
ing "Betsey." 

People  who  are  desperate  use  desperate  remedies, 
and  if  Betsey  was  not  a  desperate  remedy,  she  was 
at  least  an  old  servant,  who,  though  she  was  wont 
to  say,  "  she  knew  her  place, "  did  not  keep  it,  but 
tyrannized  over  her  gentle  Mistress  as  a  "valuable 
servant "  alone  knows  how  to  do. 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL.  67 

When  Miss  Mitford  had  repeated  her  call  for 
"  Betsey"  several  times,  she  recollected  that  Betsey 
was  always  conscientiously  deaf  to  a  call  and  only 
responded  to  a  summons  from  the  bell.  So  she 
rang,  and  then  paced  to  and  fro  the  hall,  looking 
now  at  the  grandfather's  clock  in  the  corner,  now 
at  the  flowers  on  the  table. 

An  old  woman,  lean  as  a  rook,  with  hard,  black 
eyes,  and  a  mouth  which  twisted  down  with  a  curl 
at  the  corners,  opened  a  side  door  and  came  into 
the  hall. 

"  Look  at  the  time,  Betsey,"  cried  her  mistress, 
pointing  at  the  clock  and  shaking  her  head.  "  See 
how  late  it  is,  and  that  dear  child  has  not  yet  ar- 
rived. I  begin  to  feel  sure  something  has  happened. 
I  have  been  uneasy  all  day,  no  doubt  a  presenti- 
ment of  misfortune  and — " 

"Thunder  in  the  air,  ma'am,"  interrupted  Bet- 
'  sey,  "and  tying  up  them  carnations  in  a  blazing  sun 
is  enough  to  give  presentiments  to  mummies." 

s't  John  tells  me  that  the  omnibus  came  in  half 
an  hour  ago,"  pursued  Miss  Mitford,  almost  crying. 
"The  flies  are  even  fleeter  than  the  omnibuses. 
Dear  me,  dear  me,  the  more  I  think,  the  more 
anxious  I  become.  Betsey,  where  can  that  poor 
gid  be  ?» 


6B  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

"  Miss  Helen  is  a  young  lady  who  can  take  good 
care  of  herself,  ma'am,  better  than  many  twice  and 
thrice  her  age.  Her  head  is  fit  for  use  as  well  as 
for  ornament,  and  she  holds  it  high." 

With  Betsey  the  absent  were  always  right — the 
present  wrong— Miss  Elizabeth  hardly  heard  her 
words,  she  sprang  up  from  her  seat  and  wrung  her 
hands,  fearful  misgivings  began  to  crowd  upon  her 
anxious  mind. 

" These  are  dreadful  days,  Betsey,"  she  said, 
"the  papers  teem  with  horrors.  I  live  so  safely 
here  that  I  do  not  consider  the  dangers  of  others 
less  blessed  than  myself.  Those  terrible  murderers 
cut  their  victims  into  small  portions  and  throw 
them  here  and  there  over  the  hedges." 

Betsey  possessed  the  nineteenth-century  weak- 
ness— a  perniciously  skeptical  mind  ;  she  even  went 
to  the  length  of  occasionally  doubting  the  infallible 
truth  of  what  she  read  "  on  the  paper,"  so  now,  in- 
stead of  sharing  her  companion's  fears,  she  smiled, 
an  acrid,  superior  smile. 

"So  we  hear,  ma'am,  but  we  don't  see  nothing 
of  such  things  down  in  these  respectable  parfcs,  and 
as  for  Miss  Helen  being  murdered  and  made  away 
with,  I'd  be  sorry  for  the  ruffian  who  attempted 


A  MATTER  OF  Sktlt.  iy 

iCAh,  Betsey,  don't  we  often,  you  and  I,  see  a 
strong  ship  sail  down  the  bay  one  morning,"  cried 
poor  Miss  Elizabeth,  pointing  with  a  tragic  gesture 
to  the  sea,  "and  a  few  hours  later,  alas,  where  is 
I  she  ?  A  wreck,  a  wreck !  Because  we  can't  see 
the  sunken  rock  upon  which  she  founders,  does 
that  save  her  ?     Oh,  dear,  dear,  I  am  so  anxious  !" 

"If  you  go  on  like  this,  ma'am,  fitting  Miss 
Helen  into  parables  like  the  parson,  you  will  upset 
yourself,  you  will  indeed.  The  young  lady  will  be 
here  in  a  minute  and  you'll  be  too  ill  to  see  her, 
through  running  down  hill  to  meet  misfortune. 
Ships  sail  past,  a  score  a  day,  and  come  home,  too, 
most  times,  and  overfill  the  public  houses,  more 
shame  to  their  crew." 

These  words  "running  down  hill  to  meet  mis- 
fortune" suggested  an  action  to  the  hearer  by 
which  she  could  lessen  her  fears. 

"Fetch  my  lace  shawl  and  gauntlet  gloves,  Bet- 
sey," she  commanded,  with  a  sudden  determination. 
"I  will  go  down  into  Noelcombe  and  you  shall 
accompany  me.  I  will  see  the  omnibus  conductor  ; 
he  promised  me  to  inquire  for  the  poor  girl  at  the 
station,  he  undertook  to  look  after  her,  otherwise  I 
should  have  gone  to  meet  her  myself — as  I  ought 
to  have  done,  as  I  ought  to  have  done." 


?6  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

"It  would  have  been  better,  ma'am  than  tying 
up  them  carnation  blossoms  as  if  Providence  was 
mistaken  in  making  them  top-heavy." 

"I  wished  Miss  Helen  to  see  the  garden  at  its 
best,"  said  the  poor  gardener  sadly. 

"Young  ladies  don't  look  very  particular  at 
flowers,  ma'am.  'Tisn't  in  a  garden  they  take  inter- 
est. Fine  clothes,  not  fine  flowers,  are  their  de- 
light ;  of  young  gentlemen,  not  carnations,  they 
take  notice." 

Presently  the  mistress  and  maid — the  former, 
dispirited  and  drooping  ;  the  latter,  erect  and  ener- 
getic— were  to  be  seen  hurrying  down  the  steep, 
descending  street  into  the  village  of  Noelcombe 
together. 

Half  an  hour  later  a  carrier's  cart  drew  up  out- 
side the  garden  door  of  Carnation  Cottage.  The 
carrier,  who  had  been  walking  beside  his  horse  up 
the  hill,  addressed  some  one  who  was  seated  on  a 
bench  among  a  mountain  of  parcels  and  boxes 
beneath  the  arched  awning. 

"This  yur  be  the  place,  mum,  if  yer  plaze  to 
get  out.  It's  a  awkwardish  concern  is  a  carrier's 
cart  for  a  young  lady  to  ride  in,  but  it  saved  'ee  the 
worke  howsomever  ;  and  a  long  worke  it  be  from 
up  station  down  to  Noelcumbe." 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL.  71 

(l  Yes,  indeed,  and  I  am  so  much  obliged  to  you," 
answered  a  gracious  voice,  most  gratefully,  and 
Helen,  emerging  from  the  shadow  of  the  awning, 
climbed  down  by  aid  of  the  shaft,  upon  the  road. 
"  Your  cart  is  very  comfortable,  I  am  glad  I  missed 
the  omnibus  now  ;  I  couldn't  have  seen  the  country 
half  so  well  from  it." 

"No,  mum,  I  sim  as  how  yu  couldn't.  'Tain't 
much  to  see,  however.  'Twas  a  bit  of  luck  my 
meeting  of  'ee  and  thinking  to  ask  'ee  if  you'd  have 
a  lift." 

"So  it  was;  thank  you  very  much  indeed.  I 
have  brought  you  out  of  your  way,  too,  I  am 
afraid." 

"Lor'  bless  'ee,  mum,  dorn't  you  spake  of  it. 
Poppet  and  me  dorn't  count  an  extra  moile  or  tu ; 
it's  all  in  the  day's  job." 

But  Helen  would  not  allow  him  to  pooh-pooh  his 
civility  ;  she  was  most  thankful  to  him,  and  with ' 
reason.  His  ready  West-country  courtesy  had  not 
only  saved  her  a  walk  of  deadly  length  and  dreari- 
ness, but  had  restored  her  self-assurance.  She  had 
not  been  compelled  to  resort  to  the  weak  revenge 
of  the  foolish;  she  had  not  cut  off  her  nose  to  spite 
her  face  after  all. 

She  had  certainly  been  born  under  a  lucky  star. 


fi  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

If  a  misfortune  seemed  to  threaten  her,  a  lucky 
chance,  intervening,  averted  it.  She  was  elate 
with  self -congratulation  when  a  sudden  memory  of 
1  her  moneyless  and  watchless  condition  struck  her, 
1  and,  slightly  sobered  by  the  recollection,  she  bade 
the  carrier  "  good-night,"  and  entered  her  aunt's 
domain. 

The  twilight  had  turned  to  dusk,  and  the  moon, 
"like  a  rick  on  fire,"  was  rising  over  the  sea3  be- 
fore the  elder  Miss  Mitford  returned.  Too  agitated 
to  speak,  she  leaned  on  Betsy's  stiffly- crooked  arm, 
with  her  eyes  cast  on  the  ground,  a  thousand  fears 
overwhelmed  her.  The  slugs,  tempted  forth  by  the 
falling  dew,  might  feast  undisturbed  for  once  in 
their  lives ;  she  was  too  preoccupied  to  remember 
them.  Even  Betsy  was  perturbed;  her  rugged 
face  was  solemn,  and  she  gave  quite  as  high  a 
jump,  and  gasped  quite  as  fast  and  breathlessly  as 
|  did  her  mistress  when  a  girl's  head  was  thrust 
I  through  the  open  spare  room  window  and  a  lively 
voice  cried — 

"Oh,  here  you  are,  at  last !  I  am  unpacking,  I 
will  come  down." 

And  the  next  moment  Helen  herself  came  out  of 
the  porch  door  to  meet  them. 
"  My  dear,  my  dear,  how  you  have  frightened 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL,  fl 

me  !  What  happened  \  Where  have  you  been  ? 
There,  take  me  indoors,  Helen,  I  am  trembling 
sadly,  I  should  like  to  rest." 

\     "I  am   so   dreadfully  sorry,    Aunt    Elizabeth  ; 
(but  really,  upon  my  word,   it   was  not  my  own 
fault." 

"Kiss  me,  my  love;  now  that  you  are  here,  I 
mind  nothing.  Only  that  conductor  increased  my 
alarm.  I  know  so  little  about  girls  ;  they  are  odd 
nowadays,  quite  changed  since  my  youth.  Betsy 
didn't  believe  it,  but,  then,  Betsy  never  believes 
anything,  you  know." 

Then  Helen,  her  aunt  and  Betsy  hanging  on 
her  words  and  asking  many  questions,  gave  a  de- 
tailed account  of  the  day's  occurrences.  She  omit- 
ted all  mention  of  Mr.  Jones's  name,  however,  and 
slurred  over  the  explanations  of  how  she  lost  the 
omnibus. 

]     "And  you  came  here  in  the  carrier's  cart — how 
j  extremely  uncomfortable  you  must  have  been." 

"  It  was  rather  jolty  down  the  hills,  Aunt  Eliza- 
beth." 

Aunt  Elizabeth  and  she  were  having  supper. 
Betsy  hovered  about  them,  joining  every  now  and 
then  uninvited  in  the  conversation. 

"  The   carrier  is  a  civil  man ;  he  admired  mf 


74  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

/ 

wallflowers  so  much  in  the  spring— a  dark  variety, 

Helen,  and  particularly  sweet-scented  ;  would  your 

father  care  for  some  seedlings,  do  you  think  ? " 

"  He  would  love  them,  auntie  ;  so  should  I." 

"I  am  still  thinking  of  the  carrier,  Helen;  he 
and  Mr.  Jones  are  so  very  unlike.  It  is  extraor- 
dinary that  such  an  intelligent  person  as  the  con> 
ductor  could  have  been  so  mistaken." 

Here  Betsy  made  some  remark  about  Ananias  in 
an  impressive  aside. 

"  What  mistake  did  the  conductor  make,  auntie  ? 
"What  did  he  say  about  me  ?" 

"  Well,  really,  I  can't  quite  remember,  my  love. 
You  see  I  was  in  the  stable-yard  at  the  Mermaid 
Hotel — such  a  confusing  spot,  for  the  horses  were 
loose  and  so  close  to  me."  Though  they  were  quiet 
at  the  time  and  looking  hot  and  exhausted,  poor 
things,  it  does  not  do  to  trust  to  appearance — I  kept 
my  eye  on  them." 

"But  what  was  the  mistake?"  Helen  repeated. 
— "Dear  Helen  is  so  determined/'  Mrs.  Mitford  was 
in  the  habit  of  saying,  "she  has  such  force  of 
character." — 

"Never  mind,  love,  never  mind.  It  was  a  mis- 
take, so  I  will  not  repeat  what  might  be  an  annoy- 
ance to  you.    I  make  a  point  of  forgetting  anything 


A   MATTER  OF  SKILL,  75 

unpleasing.  Those  kind  of  people  do  not  mean  any 
harm,  not  at  all ;  but  they  are  not  discerning." 

These  remarks  were  not  likely  to  arrest  Helen's 
curiosity.  1 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  what  he  said."  \ 

Miss  Mitf  ord  was  of  a  plastic  disposition  ;  though 
she  formed  her  own  opinions  and  preserved  them, 
yet  she  was  always  ready  to  comply  with  the  wishes 
of  her  companions. 

"He  didn't  say  much,  Helen." 

From  behind  them  came  some  indignant  and 
isolated  words,  of  which  "  Shameful " — "  Sir  Adol- 
phus,  indeed" — "grinding  the  poor" — "an  old- 
clothes  man" — "ought  to  know  better" — "re- 
spected herself" — "not  a  word  of  truth" — were 
distinguishable. 

"Why  did  you  go  to  see  the  omnibus  conductor, 
auntie  ? " 

"I  had  asked  him  to  look  out  for  you  at  the 
station,  I  had  given  him  a  shilling,  and  he  had 
promised  to  see  after  you.  When  you  did  not  ar- 
rive, we  went  down  to  the  '  Mermaid,'  where  the 
omnibus  stops,  to  inquire  for  you.  The  conductor, 
doubtless  to  screen  his  own  carelessness,  had  the 
effrontery  to  tell  me  that  you  had  started  for  Noel- 
combe  in  young  Mr.  Jones's  dogcart  with  that  gen- 


76  A  MAT2ER   OF  SKILL. 

tleman.  Yes,  my  dear,  he  even  said  that  Mr. 
Jones's  valet  told  him  not  to  wait,  as  his  master  was 
taking  every  care  of  you  and  would  see  you  home. 
I  questioned  him,  for  I  could  not  believe  it.  The 
conductor  was  both  wrong  and  foolish  to  invent  so 
impossible  a  tale  to  screen  his  fault." 

While  Miss  Mitford  was  speaking  Helen  blushed, 
and  her  gray  eyes  sparkled,  but  with  mischief, 
not  malice.  She  did  not  execrate  the  inventor 
of  the  calumny,  but  she  laughed  and  turned  the 
subject. 

"  Don't  faint,  Aunt  Elizabeth,  but  I  want  some 
more  lobster  ;  I  was  never  so  hungry  in  my  life." 

After  supper  the  aunt  and  niece  settled  down 
for  that  underrated  feminine  delight,  a  "  long  talk." 
Helen  was  good  company ;  she  had  plenty  to  say, 
and  when  she  listened  she  was  a  good  listener. 

Her  aunt  had  a  hobby — our  neighbors'  hobbies 
are  apt  to  weary  us,  but  Helen  had  inherited  the 
family  flower-love,  so  she  was  sympathetic  with  this 
horticultural  enthusiasm.  She  discussed  the  sub- 
ject of  seedlings  and  cuttings,  of  annuals  and  peren- 
nials, of  bedding  and  sowing,  of  grafting  and  bud- 
ding, without  being  palpably  bored. 

Betsey  belonged  to  that  unhappy  race  of  people 
who  were  once  described  as  those  "  who  hate  bear- 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL.  57 

baiting  not  because  it  gave  pain  to  the  bear,  but 
because  it  gave  pleasure  to  the  spectators,"  so  she 
treated  her  mistress's  delight  in  her  garden  as  a 
weakness  to  be  first  despised  and  then  quenched. 
The  pleasure- crushers  of  the  world  are  to  be  found 
in  each  flock.  Never  owing  to,  nor,  perchance, 
realizing  their  unlucky  tendency,  they  contrive  to 
act  as  a  drag  upon  their  companion's  happiness, 
blight  the  blossom  of  his  innocent  amusements,  and 
play  the  miserable  part  of  Killjoy  in  a  world  not 
overprolific  of  bliss  at  the  best  of  times. 

Helen's  unfeigned  interest  in  an  admiration  for 
every  flower  of  the  field  or  garden  was  delightf ul  to 
Miss  Mitford. 

"  I  have  not  enjoyed  an  evening  so  much  for 
years,"  she  told  the  girl  as  they  mounted  the  stairs 
on  their  way  to  bed  ;  "  it  was  very  good  of  you  to 
come  to  me  at  last,  love,  though  I  am  afraid  you 
will  find  it  dull  with  only  an  old  woman  for  your 
companion.  You  bring  brightness  with  you,  so  I 
hope  you  will  be  content  here,  though  the  life  I  lead 
will  seem  monotonous  and  quiet,  I  know." 

"I  thought  Noelcombe  was  raging  with  dissipa- 
tion, auntie,  ever  since  it  had  engulfed  the  great 
Sir  Adolphus." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I  hear  that  Newton  is  always 


78  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL, 

filled  with  guests,  and  I  believe  that  the  Jones's  en- 
tertainments are  continual,  but  they  do  not  invite 
me  to  partake  in  them.  However,  my  friends  at 
the  Priory,  the  Majoribanks,  are  bidden  to  the  ball 
there  next  week,  and  have  already  offered  to  take 
you  with  their  party." 

"I  shan't  go,  though,"  Helen  said,  with  a  mighty 
yawn ;  "  those  sort  of  impossible  people  don't 
amuse  me.  I  suppose  everybody  who  goes  to  their 
house  goes  either  to  laugh  at  them  or  for  what  they 
can  get." 

Helen's  tone  was  not  dulcet ;  Miss  Mitford  waa 
surprised  at  it. 

"  I  know  very  little  about  them,  my  dear.  They 
sit  near  me  in  church — such  rows  of  servants  and 
such  very  smart  young  ladies  ;  they  titter  a  good 
deal,  which  d  iot  seemly  ;  but  I  hear  that  Lady 
Jones  is  ext  ■>*  ely  kind  to  the  poor.  Their  man- 
sion is  very  i  and  much  decorated  ;  Sir  Adolphus, 
people  say,  *is  his  own  architect.  You  can  see  the 
lights  from  the  window  of  this  room — over  in  that 
direction — a  little  further  to  the  left — below  the 
clump  of  trees,  love — you  are  looking  at  the  wrong 
spot.    Good-night. 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL.  79 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  O  saw  ye  bonnie  Lesley 
As  she  gaed  o'er  the  border  ? 
She's  gane,  like  Alexander, 
To  spread  her  conquest  farther."     Burns. 

TI7TTHIN  the  drawing-room  belonging  to  that 
*  *  gorgeous  mansion,  toward  the  lights  of  which 
Miss  Mitf  ord  had  drawn  Helen's  attention,  a  rollick- 
ing party  of  smart  people  were  assembled.  The 
room,  large  as  it  was,  was  yet  well  filled,  for  the 
owner  thereof  and  his  daughters  were  indifferent  to 
such  charms  as  may  be  found  in  an  unadulterated 
home  circle,  and  their  idea  of  bliss  was  to  fill  their 
house  with  guests — guests  of  distinction  if  possible — 
but  guests  at  any  rate,  and  at  all  hazards.  Their 
brother,  when  he  favored  them  with  his  presence — 
which  was  fairly  often,  considering  that  his  com- 
pany as  an  eligible  young  man,  a  good  shot,  and  a 
good-humored  companion — was  much  sought— fell 
in  with  their  mood.  Poor  little  Lady  Jones's  good 
nature  overruled  her  good  sense  ;  her  partiality  for 


8o  A   MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

her  daughters  converted  their  wishes  into  her  law, 
so  she,  with  the  courage  of  a  martyr,  lived  in  a 
harassing  round  of  dissipation  among  people  in  the 
society  of  whom  she  felt  neither  ease  nor  comfort,  j 
The  constant  strain  of  the  endeavor  to  appear  otheii 
than  she  was,  and  the  knowledge  of  the  failure  of 
the  attempt,  spoiled  all  the  pleasure  of  her  riches, 
and  turned  her  from  a  homely,  sensible  woman  into 
a  blundering,  timorous  nonentity.  By  the  con- 
strained expression  of  her  daughters'  faces,  she 
knew  when  she  had  made  some  egregious  mistake, 
but  how  to  rectify  such  errors  she  realized  that  she 
was  either  too  stupid  or  too  old  to  learn. 

Dinner  was  over — an  excellent  dinner  it  had 
been,  such  as  leaves  those  who  have  been  happy 
enough  to  discuss  it  in  the  best  of  humors.  If  the 
wit  was  weak  among  the  party  at  Newton,  the 
laughter  was  strong,  and  there  was  plenty  of  it, 
and  the  music  of  laughter  is  pleasant  to  hear  in  a 
world  where  it  does  not  always  over-abound. 

A  group  of  men  and  girls  were  gathered  round 
the  piano,  which,  with  an  accompaniment  of  banjo, 
bones,  and  vigorous  voices,  was  degrading  its  mel- 
lifluous tones  by  leading  the  popular  strains  of  that 
curious  tune  "Killaloo." 

Apart  from  the  group  at  the  piano,  upon  the 


A  MATTEL  OF  SKILL.  8i 

ledge  of  an  open  window,  Helen's  recent  acquaint- 
ance, Mr.  Albert  Jones,  was  seated  talking,  with 
rather  a  listless  and  condescending  air,  to  his 
youngest  sister,  Anastasia. 

"Don't  grumble,  Bertie,  come  and  sing,"  she 
was  saying ;  "or,  if  you  won't  sing,  go  and  smoke 
— do  something.  I  saw  Lady  Lucy  looking  over 
here  just  now  ;  it's  rather  uncivil  of  you  not  to 
talk  to  her.  *  You  have  been  so  stupid  all  the  even- 
ing ;  you  bored  her  to  death  at  dinner,  I  saw  her 
yawning." 

"'That  polished  horde,  formed  of  two  mighty 
tribes,  the  Bores  and  Bored, ' "  he  quoted,  with  a 
comprehensive  glance,  first  at  the  musicians,  and 
then  round  the  room.  "My  dear  An,  I  can't  tune 
myself  up  to  concert  pitch  in  heat  like  this.  Lady 
Lucy  is  all  very  well,  but  she  is  not  invigorating  ; 
she  is  as  mild  as  buttermilk." 

His  sister  looked  at  him  rather  anxiously,  and 
knitted  her  eyebrows. 

"She  is  perfectly  charming,  Bertie;  we  are  de- 
voted to  her,  and  so  is  papa.  They  have  asked  us 
all  there  on  the  29th.  Didn't  she  tell  you  ?  Hasn't 
she  asked  you  ?" 

"  She  said  something  about  polo  at  their  place, 
and  a  golf  or  tennis  week — I  forget  which,    It 


82  A   MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

made  me  hot  to  think  of  such  violent  exercise,  and 
I  said  so." 

"You  are  too  spoiled,  Bertie,"  said  Anastasia, 
shrugging  her  shoulders.  '  'You  really  are.  You 
are  getting  disagreeble. " 

At  that  moment  the  chorus  of  "Killaloo" — 

"We  larn  to  sing  it  aisy,  that  song  the  Marseillasy 
Too  long,  vouslong,  the  Continent,  we  learnt  at  Killaloo." 

rung  out  through  the  room. 

"Pretty  thing  that!"  growled  the  young  man 
— "  just  like  ' White  Wings'  or  Lady  Lucy.  Sort 
of  thing  you  never  get  sick  of — grows  on  you — just 
suits  a  night  like  this." 

He  pointed  through  the  open  window  to 
where  the  moon  traced  its  pathway  across  the 
dark,  heaving  sea — to  where  the  black  cliffs  tow- 
ered, standing  on  guard  upon  either  side  of  the 
cleft  chasm  in  which  twinkled  the  lights  of  the 
village. 

Anastasia  did  not  look  at  the  view,  but  she  look- 
ed keenly  at  her  brother. 

"Did  Troubadour  win  the  Norchester  Stakes  ?" 
she  inquired,  with  apparent  irrelevance. 

' ' Walk  over, ' ' — laconically. 

"Then  what's  the  matter,  Bertie  ?     When  you 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL,  &$ 

are  crusty  something  quite  extraordinary  must  have 
happened." 

"  I'm  all  right,  my  dear  ;  there  is  nothing  earth- 
ly the  matter  with  me.  I  suppose  a  fellow  needn't 
make  a  fool  of  himself  unless  it  is  agreeable  to  him. 
Lady  Lucy  is  everything  that  is  correct,  but  she 
can't  sing — 

'  Her  voice  was  soft  and  low 
A  cooing  kind  of  voice,  you  know, 
Except  when  she  began  to  sing, 
And  then  it  was  a  fearful  thing."' 

"Lady  Lucy  sings  beautifully,"  his  sister  said, 
lAvher  stiffly.  '*Good-by,  Bertie.  You  are  such 
dull  company,  I'm  off." 

She  had  not  gone  more  than  two  or  three  steps 
when  he  called  her  back. 

Anastasia  returned— no  one  ever  dreamed  of  dis- 
puting Mr.  Jones's  wishes ;  but  she  was  impatient 
at  his  demands  on  her  time.  With  a  half-a-dozen 
young  men  within  hail,  the  best  of  brothers  would 
seem  a  dull  companion  ;  this  grim,  uncomplaisant 
brother  was  an  unmitigated  bore. 

*'  What  do  you  want  ?" 

(m  Well,  I  wanted  to  hear" — he  rfpoke  slowly  ; 
he  was  staring  hard  at  his  foot,  as  though  its  ap- 
pearance at  the  end  of  his  trousers  was  an  interest- 


$4  A  MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

ing  novelty — "I  wanted  to  hear  how  many  people 
are  coming  to  this  ball,  and  who  they  are,  and  what 
sort  of  entertainment  it's  likely  to  be." 

This  was  an  engrossing  and  a  sensible  topic,  into 
which  Anastasia  conld  enter. 

"Every  one  is  coming,"  she  answered,  confi- 
dentially. "We  have  been  so  lucky — hardly  one 
refusal.  All  the  right  people  in  the  house." 
She  ran  through  a  string  of  noble  names  glibly, 
and  in  rather  a  raised  voice  ;  it  is  curious  that 
such  names  should  require  emphasizing.  "It 
ought  to  go  off  well.  There  are  plenty  of  men, 
if  they  will  only  do  their  duty  as  well  in  the 
ball  room  as  they  are  sure  to  do  in  the  supper- 
room." 

Mr.  Jones  was  still  staring  at  his  foot,  his  inter- 
est in  which  had  developed  into  anxiety  ;  for  he 
twisted  it  about  and  craned  his  neck  to  enable  him 
to  catch  sight  of  the  sole  of  his  shoe. 

"Have  you  asked  any  of  the  other  people  ?"  he 
inquired,  indifferently. 

"  Whom  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Why,  the — the— what-do-you-call-them  ?— the 
villagers.  The  parson  and  the  doctor,  and  the  law- 
yer and  the  old  ladies,  don't  you  know  ?  The 
people  one  only  sees  in  churchc" 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL,  Bg 

Miss  Anastasia  said,  "G-ood  gracious,  no!"  and 
laughed. 

Then  Bertie,  still  occupied  ,with  the  formation 
of  his  foot,  spoke  more  briskly  than  he  had  hith- 
erto done. 

"  It  is  a  great  mistake  to  make  enemies,"  he  be- 
gan, as  though  he  was  delivering  a  lecture  and  was 
a  little  pressed  for  time  ;  si  the  greatest  mistake  in 
the  world,  Anastasia.  We  ought  to  ask  everybody  ; 
we  ought  to  make  a  point  of  asking  everybody. 
There  is  no  end  of  room  in  this  house  ;  a  dozen 
more  people  won't  crowd  us  out,  and-if  I'm  to  stand 
for  this  side  of  the  county  at  the  next  election  it 
won't  do  to  risk  unpopularity  and  that  sort  of  thing 
by  want  of  civility,  People  like  to  be  asked,  and 
it  ought  to  be  done.  I  feel  very  strongly  about  it 
myself — I  always  have  done  so.  I  should  like  to 
know  why  they  shouldn't  be  asked,  and  come,  too  ? 
Surely  there  are  plenty  of  old  ladies  in  Noelcombe  ? 
Poor  old  souls  ! — a  ball  would  cheer  them  up  a  bit. 
You  needn't  laugh.  I  don't  want  them  to  dance — 
I  don't  mean  that — but  the  looking  on  and  all  the 
rest  of  it.  I'm  not  chaffing,  An  ;  I  want  some  more 
invitations  sent  out." 

Anastasia  looked  perplexed,  and  spoke  coldly — 

"  Thanks  for  indulging  me  with  your  maiden 


85  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

speech,  Bertie — not  very  elegant,  but  emphatic. 
So  you  will  support  women's  rights,  and  old  wom- 
en's rights  in  particular  ?    Most  benevolent  of  you  !" 

1<I  want  those  invitations  sent  out,"  her  brother 
repeated. 

He  did  not  often  exert  himself  to  express  a  wish, 
but  when  he  did  so  his  family  knew  that,  come 
what  might,  that  wish  would  eventually  be  fulfilled. 

"Then  you  had  better  speak  to  mother.  She  is 
always  eager  to  gather  in  from  the  hedges  and  high- 
ways. No  doubt  she  will  be  charmed  to  send  every 
tradesman  in  the  village  a  card." 

This  last  whim  of  Bertie's  was  preposterous,  and 
the  indulgence  of  it  likely  to  prove  a  great  trial  to 
his  relations.  Though  that  magic  word  politics 
(which  '  surprises  in  himself")  could  be  made  to 
account  for  the  presence  of  any  social  curiosities  at 
the  party,  yet  their  entertainment— an  uncongenial 
task — would  devolve  upon  the  ladies  of  the  house. 

Anastasia  was  annoyed,  and  when  she  was  dis- 
pleased she  had  a  knack  of  making  herself  pecul- 
iarly disagreeable  to  her  neighbors,  but  it  was  im- 
politic to  quarrel  with  her  brother,  so  she  contented 
herself  by  turning  down  the  corners  of  her  mouth, 
shrugging  her  wide  shoulders,  and  leaving  him  to 
occupy  his  window-seat  alone. 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL.  87 

He,  however,  did  not  remain  where  she  had  left 
him,  bat  crossing  the  room,  seated  himself  by  the 
side  of  his  mother,  with  whom  he  conversed  for 
some  time.  Lady  Jones  still  possessed  one  joy 
which  was  unqnenched  by  the  pomp  of  her  riches 
— the  love  of  her  son,  her  handsome,,  charming  son, 
who  treated  her  with  a  gentle  tenderness  and  a 
courteous  consideration  such  as  had  strangled  the 
dawning  shadow  of  a  suspicion  that  he  might  be 
ashamed  of  her,  and  those  supreme,  manifest,  but 
unsuccessful  efforts  of  hers  to  be  comme  ilfaut. 

The  conversation  between  them,  of  which  the 
young  man  monopolized  the  lion's  share,  and  to 
which  his  mother  replied  with  "nods  and  becks  and 
wreathed  smiles,"  was  of  some  length,  and  bore  the 
following  fruit.  2 

During  the  ensuing  afternoon,  when  Miss  Mit- 
ford  and  her  niece  were  seated  in  the  cool,  flower- 
scented  little  drawing  room  at  Carnation  Cottage, 
the  sound  of  a  ring  at  the  front  gate  tinkled  through 
the  open  window,  and  mingled  so  harmoniously 
with  the  jubilant  song  of  the  canary  that  Miss  Eliz- 
abeth— who  was  dozing  in  an  arm-chair  with  her 
cap  straying,  as  was  its  wont  over  her  left  column 
of  curls,  and  her  plump  brown  hands  clasped  on  her 
round  knees — neither  stirred  nor  sighed. 


88  A   MATTER  OF  SKILL 

Helen,  who  was  arranging  some  freshly-cut  roses 
in  a  basket  as  she  hummed  her  favorite,  "A 
man  who  would  woo  a  fair  maid,"  in  subdued 
notes,  saw  a  shadow  cross  the  lawn;  so,  roses 
in  hand,  she  rose  and  twitched  the  offending  cap 
into  place  in  view  of  an  emergency  in  the  shape  of 
visitors.  She  had  resumed  her  song  and  her  oc> 
cupation  when  Julia,  awed  by  the  stateliness  of  a 
powdered  footman  and  excited  by  the  unwonted 
sight  of  a  gentleman  caller,  opened  the  door  timidly, 
and  in  hushed  tones  announced — 

"Lady  Jones  and  Mr.  Jones  !" 

Then  followed  some  embarrassing  moments, 
during  which  Miss  Elizabeth  woke  up  in  a  bewildered 
condition  ;  Lady  Jones  nervously  and  unintelligibly 
endeavored  to  explain  the  object  of  her  call,  stared 
Helen  out  of  countenance  and  broke  the  foreleg  of 
the  dainty  chair  upon  the  edge  of  which  she  had 
placed  herself  on  her  entry. 

Strangely  enough,  the  usually  composed  Helen 
had  momentarily  lost  her  self-possession,  but  soon 
regaining  it,  she  found  Lady  Jones  another  and  a 
firmer  chair,  helped  her  out  with  her  disclosures, 
and  sustained  the  conversation  until  her  aunt  finally 
emerged  from  the  land  of  dreams  and  became  her 
placid  and  tranquil  self. 


A   MATTER   OF  SKILL.  89 

"It  is  so  long  since  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
you,  Lady  Jones,  that,  for  the  first  moment,  I  hardly 
knew  you,"  she  apologized.  ''  It  seemed  so  stupid, 
but  unfortunately  I  left  my  spectacles  on  the  gar 
den  seat  below  the  magnolia,  and  without  them  I 
am  nearly  blind,  I  am  indeed." 

"My  eyes  fail  me,  too,  Miss  Mitford,  but  I'm 
sorry  to  say  I  don't  wear  spectacles,  but  these  awk- 
ward pinch-noses  which  my  girls  prefer,  though 
they  fall  from  my  nose  as  often  as  I  place  them 
there." 

"But  I  notice  that  your — ahem — your  glasses  are 
suspended  from  your  neck  by  a  chair,  which  is  so 
very  convenient ;  my  spectacles  frequently  get  mis- 
laid. It  is  impossible,"  with  a  gentle  sigh,  "to 
attach  spectacles." 

Mr.  Jones,  to  do  him  justice,  was  behaving  with 
tact,  he  looked  as  though  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
paying  afternoon  calls  with  his  mother,  and  ap- 
peared quite  at  home  on  the  tiny  chair  in  the  cor- 
ner, where  he  had  retreated  on  his  arrival,  and 
from  whence,  for  the  first  few  moments,  he  watched 
the  scene  in  silence. 

As  soon  as  the  elder  ladies  were  fairly  engaged 
in  conversation,  Helen  turned  and  spoke  to  this 
unassertive  guest ;  though  she  was  conscious  that 


90  A  MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

his  eye  rested  more  persistently  upon  her  than  was 
quite  in  accordance  with  good  manners,  she  no 
longer  appeared  to  resent  it.  If  he  had  approved 
her,  soiled,  weary,  and .  travel-stained,  as  she  had 
appeared  the  previous  day,  it  was  not  probable 
that  his  admiration  would  lessen  on  the  second 
sight  of  the  girl,  who,  for  some  inexplicable  reason, 
had  amended  her  manner  as  much  as  she  had  im- 
proved her  appearance.  Yesterday  he  had  fan- 
cied her  gauche,  constrained,  shy,  now  she  was 
gracious,  self-possessed,  and  smiling,  and  although 
there  was  something  in  her  ceremonious  civility 
which  balked  his  endeavors  to  arrive  at  that  easy, 
hail-fellow-well-met  stage  of  intimacy,  which  he 
usually  adopted  with  those  fortunate  girls  to  whom 
he  took  a  liking,  yet  he  was  not  inclined  to  quarrel 
with  her  demeanor;  after  all  it  was  a  change,  and 
variety  is  refreshing. 

He  had  come  for  the  purpose  of  inviting  her  j 
to  the  ball,  and  he  saw  no  reason  for  concealing  ' 
his    purpose    so    he  immediately   approached  the 
subject. 

"My  mother's  brought  you  a  card,"  he  said,  and 
then  urged  her  to  accept  the  invitation. 

Her  smiling  indifference  to  the  whole  question 
was  rather  astonishing  to  one  whose  desire,  opinion, 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL.  91 

or  remark,  usually  received  the  undivided  attention 
of  that  honored  lady  to  whom  it  was  divulged. 

"You  don't  care  for  dancing?"  he  hazarded. 
"Perhaps  you  don't  go  to  balls? " 

"I  was  at  a  ball  last  week,"  she  replied,   "  I  am  ! 
very  fond  of  dancing." 

"Perhaps  you  have  had  too  much  of  it?  One 
gets  sick  of  anything." 

She  smiled  at  him  without  answering— a  provok- 
ing smile  because  it  was  ambiguous. 

He  thought  those  gray  eyes  of  hers  with  which 
she  looked  straight  into  his,  were  very  clear  and 
cold,  but  wonderfully  pretty  ;  he  thought  she  looked 
like  a  rose  herself  in  her  pink  cotton  gown  and  her 
hands  filled  with  roses,  he  thought  he  should  like  to 
own  that  cloth  of  gold  bud  with  which  she  toyed 
half -absently  while  she  talked.  He  wished  she- 
would  be  less  unapproachable  and  more  responsive. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  began  again,  still  searching  for  a 
cause  for  her  refusal,  "you  don't  care  for  a  ball  out 
of  your  own  -neighborhood  ?  Do  strangers  bore 
you?" 

"  On  the  contrary — I  like  change,  and  therefore  a 
change  of  face." 

"Then,  why,"  doggedly,  "won't  you  come  to 
us?" 


92  A  MATTEL   OF  SKILL. 

"I  am  so  sorry,"  with  that  formal  air  of  polite- 
ness that  was  artificial,  he  knew,  and  which  annoyed 
him,  "that  I  am  unable  to  accept  your  kind  invita- 
tion." 

"  I  am  most  unlucky,"  he  returned  with  a  smile, 
"you  will  accept  nothing  of  mine — not  even  a  lift 
in  my  dog-cart." 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  alluded  to  their  prior 
acquaintance,  and  she  blushed  a  little  when  he  did 
so,  though  she  answered  with  that  calm  savoirfaire 
and  self-reliance  which  seemed  to  place  her  at  a 
great  distance  off  and  reversed  their  former  position, 
to  his  disadvantage. 

"  Yesterday  you  were  a  stranger  to  me,"  she  said, 
demurely. 

"So  is  a  cabman  a  stranger,  but  you  drive  in  his 
cab  all  right." 

"  I  pay  a  cabman." 

"  You  could  pay  me,  if  you  like." 

"  I  had  no  money." 

"  I  would  have  put  it  down,"  he  said,  "I  would 
have  taken  out  the  fare  in  dances." 

"You  were  very  kind,"  with  a  mischievous 
twinkle  in  her  eyes,  "to  propose  driving  me,  but 
you  could  hardly  expect  me  to  trespass  upon  your 
goodness  by  accepting  your  offer." 


A   MATTER  OF  SKILL.  $$ 

■    j 

"It  was  no  case  of  trespassing,"  he  returned, 
answering  the  twinkle  with  a  laugh,  "  the  cart  was 
there  and  the  empty  seat  ready  for  you.     Upon  my 
word,  I  was  miserable  the  whole  evening  at  the. 
thought  of  your  walking  home  ;  I  couldn't  forget  it,  ? 
but  it  was  your  own  fault."  ' 

A  very  steady  and  expressive  glance  from  his 
companion  disconcerted  the  speaker. 

"  If  it  wasn't  your  own  fault  I  don't  know  who 
was  to  blame,"  he  added,  with  some  defiance. 
"  When  I  was  half  way  home  I  nearly  turned  back 
to  try  my  luck  again  with  you,  but  remembering 
your  face  as  I  had  last  seen  it  I  thought  it  wiser  not 
to  try." 

u  Had  you  come  you  would  have  been  too  late  to 
find  me  for  I  soon  met  with  a — a  carriage  in  which 
I  drove  home." 

"Not  really?  You  don't  mean  it,  I  thought  all 
the  cabs  and  carts  were  well  on  their  way  back 
before  you  left  the  station." 

"You  had  forgotten  the  carrier's  cart." 

He  laughed,  they  were  sailing  unpleasantly  near 
the  wind,  he  must  change  the  subject. 

"  So  you  came  in  the  guise  of  a  parcel,  what 
a  fortunate  carrier  !  I  am  glad  you  were  spared  the 
walk,  though  I  am  inclined  to  think  you  deserved  to 


94  A   MA1TER   OF  SKILL. 

suffer  for  refusing  my  escort/'  then,  with  a  sudden 
happy  thought,  "  You  pass  through  pretty  country 
on  the  way  here,  don't  you  ? " 

" Exceedingly,"  with  a  disappointing  lack  of  en- 
thusiasm. 

"  You  do  not  know  the  Eivers  Meet  Vale  near 
here  ? " 

"  No,  but  I  have  heard  of  it." 

"  You  must  see  it. " 

"Yes,  I  should  like  to  go  there." 

"It's,  a  perfect  bit  of  scenery.  It  beats  anything 
I  ever  saw  in  any  country,  and  I  have  done  a  tire- 
some bit  of  knocking  about  in  my  life.  The  rivers 
come  in  contact  in  a  narrow  valley  between  a  brace 
of  granite  tors ;  there  is  such  a  tumult  over  the 
meeting  of  the  waters  that  you  can  hear  the  splash- 
ing and  the  roar  half  a  mile  off.  Bowlders  from 
the  cliff  have  rolled  down  into  the  bed  of  the  river 
and  the  water  lashes  them  all  day  long  and  sends 
up  clouds  of  spray  which  keep  the  air  cool  even  on 
the  hottest  summer  morning.  The  Osmunda  Ee- 
galis  grows  eight  feet  high  on  the  banks  ;  inland 
you  can  get  a  view  over  the  moor,  and  seaward  you 
can  see  right  away  beyond  Morte  Point." 

"How  beautiful." 

"Indeed,  it  is  beautiful  J* 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL.  95 

Scenery  was  a  stimulating  and  stirring  topic; 
Mr.  Jones  felt  that  hitherto  he  had  not  fully  appre- 
ciated the  beauties  of  North  Devon. 

"The  morning  after  the  ball  we  are  going  to 
drive  up  there  for  a  blow,"  he  continued.  "We 
are  all  going,  a  largish  party,  we  shall  take  lunch 
and  make  a  day  of  it.  It's  rather  a  difficult  place 
to  get  at,  the  roads  are  execrable.  You  will  come 
with  us,  won't  you  ?  You  would  love  the  Vale  and 
my  mother  would  be  so  pleased  to  have  you." 

Helen's  eyes  had  sunk  to  the  roses  on  her  knee, 
she  hesitated  and  he  eagerly  pressed  his  advantage. 

"I  will  get  the  carrier's  cart  if  that  is  the  only 
conveyance  you  fancy,  and  if  I  mayn't  drive  you,  at 
least  I  may  walk  by  the  horse's  head  and  crack  the 
whip  occasionly." 

"  May  I  leave  it  open  ? " 

"No,"  he  said,  boldly,  "that  is  just  what  you 
may  not  do.  I  hate  uncertainty  worse  than  misfor- 
tune. If  you  will  come  it  will  be  very  kind  of  you; 
if  you  won't  I  will  make  up  my  mind  to  bear  the 
disappointment. " 

"It  must  depend  upon  my  aunt,"  with  an  ac- 
cession of  dignity  that  the  young  man  did  not  seem 
to  remark. 

"I  thought  it  depended  on  you,"  he  said,  frank- 


)6  A   MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

ly,  "if  it  depends  on  her  it  is  easily  arranged/'  and, 
forthwith,  he  arose  from  his  chair,  quitted  his  non- 
plussed companion,  and,  turning  his  shoulder  upon 
her,  addressed  Miss  Elizabeth.  He  had  hardly  fin- 
ished his  petition  for  permission  for  Helen  to  join 
their  Eivers  Meet  picnic  before  it  was  gratefully  ac - 
corded. 

" Whose  picnic  is  it,  Albert,"  asked  Lady  Jones, 
rising  as  she  spoke  preparatory  to  taking  leave.  "I 
had'nt  heard  a  word  of  it.  Dear  me,  I  fancy  you 
must  have  made  a  mistake  for  I  do  not  think  we  are 
invited." 

"It's  all  right,  mother,"  he  replied,  calmly. 
'The  girls  are  going  and  all  the  people  in  the  house. 
It  is  our  own  picnic,  but  it's  rather  premature  to 
talk  of  it,  for  the  weather's  so  uncommonly  un- 
settled down  here  in  the  West." 

When  the  visitors  had  gone,  the  elder  Miss  Mit- 
f ord  waxed  eloquent  over  their  charms  and  flooded  i 
her  discourse  with  their  praises.  \ 

"Such  genial  and  friendly  people,  love,  the 
young  man  so  handsome  and  so  easy.  If  poor 
Lady  Jones  is  not  quite  what  we  are  accustomed  to 
in  polish,  yet  her  deficiences  are  concealed  by  good 
nature.  People  are  sadly  unkind  about  them. 
Jealousy/love:  is  at  the  root  of  all  unkindness. 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL.  fcf 

Between  ourselves,  Helen,  I  think  that  nice  young 
man  has  taken  a.  fancy  to  you.  You  have  no  idea 
how  he  stared  when  you  were  bidding  his  Mama 
good-by — it  was  almost  uncivil — but  then  he  has 
such  handsome  eyes." 

"He  is  very  self-satisfied  and  conceited,"  said  the 
younger  lady  with  cold  deliberation. 

"Dear,  dear,  you  astonish  me,  Helen.  From 
your  manner  and  general  air  I  quite  thought,  well, 
well,  I  really  couldn't  tell  you  what  I  did  think — » 
old  maids  are  fanciful." 

"I  wonder  if  they  are  as  fanciful  as  young 
ones,"  thought  the  girl  dipping  her  sweet  face  down 
in  the  basket  of  roses  before  her  and  smiling  rather 
grimly. 


A   MATTER   OF  SKILL. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"Unfold,  ye  tender  blooms  of  life  ; 

Sing  birds  ;  let  all  the  world  be  gay ; 
'Tis  well — the  morning  of  our  day 
Must  rise  'mid  joyous  songs  and  strife." 

Lewis  Morris. 

'"THE  first  week  of  Helen's  visit  had  passed,  and  she 
A  had  already  decided  that  Carnation  Cottage  was 
the  pleasantest  house  possible  in  which  to  live,  that 
no  companion  could  be  more  congenial  than  Miss 
Elizabeth,  that  Betsey's  wit  was  equal  to  Sheridan's, 
that  Devon  was  the  loveliest  county  in  England — in 
fact,  to  be  brief,  that  she  was  as  happy  as  the  lovely 
July  days  were  long. 

Her  radiant  face  was  seldom  clouded ;  it  would 
take  a  heavy  weight  of  grief  to  depress  her  buoy- 
ant spirits,  or  quench  the  sparkle  of  keen  life  in 
her  eyes.  In  her  sheltered  existence  such  anxieties 
as  she  had  of  necessity  encountered  did  not  strike 
below  the  surface  ;  of  suffering  she  knew  nothing 
but  the  name. 

Both  Miss  Elizabeth  and  the  less  impressionable 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL.  99 

Betsey  had  gone  down  before  her  charms  like  nine- 
pins. When  she  was  out  of  the  room,  they  talked 
about  her;  when  she  was  present,  they  followed  her 
about,  watching  her  with  indulgent  eyes.  As  a 
matter  of  course,  she  took  the  guidance  of  the 
household  into  her  firm  hands,  and  even  gave 
advice  on  the  subject  of  gardening,  flitting  to  and 
fro  the  grass-plot,  from  flower-bed  to  flower-bed, 
carrying  shears  or  watering-pot,  trowel  or  rake, 
hose  or  spud,  as  the  fancy  seized  her,  with  Miss 
Elizabeth,  a  little  breathless  and  anxious,  but  un- 
complaining, following  at  her  heels,  When,  as 
was  sometimes  the  case,  she  fell  into  a  wild  and 
whimsical  mood  and  talked  and  romped  more  like 
an  irresponsible  madcap  than  the  dignified  young 
woman  she  sometimes  appeared,  Miss  Elizabeth,  in- 
stead of  scolding,  went  into  fits  of  weak  laughter. 

When  the  fierce  heat  of  the  day  had  passed, 
Helen  usually  went  down  alone  to  the  seashore,  for 
her  aunt  could  seldom  be  persuaded  to  leave  the 
precincts  of  her  own  domain,  explored  the  village, 
climbed  the  rocks,  played  with  the  children  on  the 
beach,  and  formed  a  friendship  with  that  inevitable 
seaside  institution,  the  tanned,  amphibious,  and 
most  garrulous  bathing-woman. 

Helen  was  gregarious  ;  she  was  content  to  be 


ioo  A   MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

alone  because  it  was  her  nature  to  be  content  under 
all  circumstances,  but  she  dearly  liked  a  companion, 
and  when  nobody  came  her  way  she  was  disappoint- 
ed. The  nurses  and  children  with  whom  the  nar-  / 
row  belt  of  sands  immediately  below  the  village  was 
sprinkled,  soon  learned  to  know  the  tall,  handsome 
girl  who  had  a  greeting  for  every  one  she  met,  a 
smile  for  the  babies,  a  ready  and  skillful  hand 
wherewith  to  build  castles,  fill  buckets,  sail  boats,  or 
pick  up  the  fallen,  and  cheerful  words  to  console 
the  woeful.  She  never  sat  beneath  an  umbrella 
absorbed  in  the  dead  contents  of  a  yellow-back,  and 
therefore  blind  to  the  real  game  of  life  played  for- 
ever before  her  eyes.  She  was  keenly  interested  in 
her  kind. 

More  than  once  during  her  wanderings,  she  had 
caught  a  glimpse  of  a  high,  yellow  dogcart,  with  a 
square  shouldered  figure  sitting  bolt  upright  on  the  . 
box  seat,  whom  she  recognized.     Usually  he  had  ( 
some  one  beside  him ;  twice  it  had  been  another  ( 
square-shouldered,  broad  figure  like  his  own  ;  but 
the  third  time  his  companion  had  been  a  lady,  a 
pretty  girl,  whose  face  was  turned  toward  him  as 
though  she  was  listening  while  he  talked.  Once,  only 
once,  Helen  had  met  that  dogcart  face  to  face,  and 
then  its  occupant,  who  had  been  alone,  had  drawn 


A  MATTER' <)#'> SKILL:  \6i 

up  beside  her  and  engaged1  her  for'  ah  unconscion- 
ably long  time  in  conversation.  More  than  once 
she  had  tried  to  move  on,  but  each  time  he  had  re- 
called her  by  a  question  and  always  on  the  subject 
of  her  loss,  on  which  topic  he  had,  of  course,  a  right 
to  question  her.  In  an  affair  of  dogged  determina- 
tion Helen  had  met  her  master — an  amiable,  gentle, 
but  unflinchingly  obstinate  master. 

Mr.  Jones  had  also  called  one  afternoon  at  Car- 
nation Cottage,  and  again  it  was  for  the  purpose  of 
conversing  with  Helen  about  her  stolen  property, 
of  which,  it  seemed,  he  had  heard  some  hopeful 
news  ;  in  fact,  he  believed  the  watch  had  been  dis- 
covered in  a  pawnbroker's  shop  in  Birmingham 
and  in  that  case  before  very  long  he  should  have 
the  pleasure  of  restoring  it  to  its  owner. 

Miss  Elizabeth  was  grateful  for  all  the  trouble 
that  this  kind  young  man  had  taken,  and,  although 
her  niece  was  out,  she  had  pressed  him  to  stay  to 
tea.  He  had  remained,  and,  tea  having  been  taken 
out  into  the  garden,  he  had  seated  himself  beside 
his  hostess  in  the  shade  of  the  tulip  tree,  where  he 
had  sojourned  for  a  very,  very  long  time.  He  had 
shown  such  wisdom  about,  such  appreciation  of,  and 
such  love  for  his  companion's  flowers  that  on  his 
departure  she  waxed  enthusiastic,  pronouncing  him 


iui  :  'A   MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

to  be  "the  most  Agreeable  person  of  her  acquaint- 
ance," and  "more  like  the  young  men  of  my  own 
day,  love." 

Helen,  who  had  been  down  on  the  beach  during 
this  event,  was  toiling  slowly  up  the  hill  on  her  way  j 
home  when  Mr.  Jones  emerged  from  the  garden 
gate,  with  the  most  cherished  of  her  aunt's  rosebuds 
in  his  button-hole,  and  an  aggressively  debonair  and 
satisfied  demeanor.  She  was  overjoyed  at  the  pros- 
pect of  recovering  her  watch  and  listened  to  all  he 
had  to  say,  which  was  not  a  little,  on  that  and  on 
other  subjects,  with  eager  eyes  and  her  most  gracious 
manner.  When,  at  last,  she  left  him,  he  watched 
her  out  of  sight,  and  then,  turning  away,  he  walked 
home  with  a  graver  look  than  usual  on  his  careless, 
untroubled  face  ;  while  she,  entering  the  garden, 
met  her  excited  aunt  with  a  torrent  of  insane  jokes 
and  teasing  laughter.  She  would  be  in  earnest 
about  nothing;  she  would  not  listen  to  a  repetition 
of  Mr.  Jones's  conversation,  she  would  not  be  in- 
terested in  anything  concerning  him  ;  she  would 
only  consent  to  hear  his  praise  under  prcfes t.  All 
through  that  evening  she  was  in  outrageously  high 
spirits,  and  at  last,  when  her  poor  aunt,  half  ex- 
hausted with  laughter,  led  her  to  the  piano  and 
almost  with  tears  petitioned  for  a  song,  she  would 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL,  103 

only  sing  her  old  favorite,  "  A  man  who  would  woo 
a  fair  maid,"  and  that  with  such  whimsical  emphasis 
and  vehemence  that  it  set  poor  Miss.  EKzabeth 
laughing  again. 

"Sing  something'soft,  love,  something  soft,"  the 
lady  begged  plaintively. 

"Of  soft  heads  or  soft  hearts,  auntie?  "They 
are  both  equally  interesting,  and  they  hunt  in 
couples." 

"  Hush,  Helen,  hush  ;  do  not  be  so  wild.  Sing  a 
pretty,  gentle,  tender  love  song. " 

"I  couldn't  do  it,  auntie.  Love  is  such  a  fraud ; 
it  really  is  — You  may  talk  of  a  tender  beefsteak  ; 
but  a  tender  song — pshaw  !  " 

"Helen,  that  is  not  right;  it  is  unseemly,  love. 
I  am  going  to  bed." 

And  she  went — it  was  her  usual  and  effective 
way  of  ending  an  argument. 

Upon  the  afternoon  of  that  day  which  had  been 
fixed  for  the  ball  at  Newton  Hall  the  Miss  Mitfords, 
at  Helen's  request,  had  tea  early  ;  after  which  the 
girl,  adjusting  her  big  white  hat,  and,  as  a  tribute  to 
custom,  fetching  her  gloves  (which  she  put  in  her 
pocket  instead  of  upon  her  hands),  set  off  for  her 
daily  walk.  She  paused  a  moment  at  the  gate  to 
Wave  a  farewell  to  her  aunt,  who  was  bent  double 


-jo*  A  MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

over  her  carnation  bed,  the  surface  soil  of  w  hich  she 
was  loosening  with  a  fork, 

"The   tide  is  out  this  evening,   auntie;    I  am 
going  to  the  rocks.      The  distant  rocks,  it's  a  long 
j  walk.    I  maybe  late." 

"Don't  get  drowned,  love." 

"No,  auntie." 

"Don't  get  your  feet  wet." 

"No,  auntie." 

Half  an  hour  later  Helen  had  reached  the  shore. 
She  loved  the  sea,  the  thousand  lights  and  shades 
that  tinged  its  surface,  the  restlessness,  the  eternal 
variety,  the  mystery  of  its  troubled  life.  But  that 
evening  she  had  no  time  to  watch  the  waves  ;  she 
walked  quickly  along  the  sands,  skirting  the  groups 
of  nursemaids  and  children,  with  her  face  turned 
westward  toward  the  cliffs,  which  shelved  down  into 
a  jutting  peninsula.  Here  the  low  rocks  reached 
I  far  put  into  the  sea,  and  then  sinking  below  the  sur- 
!  face  showed,  like  a  black  shadow,  through  the  blue 
waters.     Thither  she  steered  her  way. 

The  bathing- woman,  who  « was  standing  as  sen- 
tinel behind  a  long  row  of  curious,  sand-ingrained, 
faded  garments  which,  secured  by  stones,  lay  supine 
on  the  yellow  sands,  addressed  her  as  she  passed— 

"  Where  be  'ee  going  to  Miss  ?" 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL,  105 

-    "To  the  rocks." 

"Then  plaze  to  mind  the  tide;  her  comes  in 
powerful  fast  and  strong  out  yonder.  Don't  'ee  go 
I  out  tu  far,  Miss.  It's  safe  enough  if  yu'll  be  a  bit 
[careful." 

Helen  nodded.  "She  would  be  careful,"  she 
said,  and  strode  on  fast. 

She  toiled  laboriously  over  the  rough  and  broken 
shingle  which  intervened  between  the  sands  and 
those  splendid  rocks — her  destination.  Most  girls 
would  have  been  daunted  by.  the  obstacles  of  that 
long  and  painful  walk,  and  would  soon  have  turned 
back  to  join  those- comrades  who  were  content  with 
pleasures  less  difficul  of  access,  but  with  Helen  it 
was  altogether  otherwise.  An  impediment  in  her 
route  was  merely  a  thing  to  be  surmounted ;  it  was 
no  barrier  to  stop  her  progress.  When  once  that 
formidable  possession  of  hers,  her  mind,  was  made 
I  up,  her  purpose,  she  had  accustomed  herself  to  con- 

!  sider,  was  inflexible. 

j  7 

She  found  the  distance  she  had  to  traverse  was 
far  greater  than  she  had  anticipated,  and  it  was 
long  before  she — tired,  hot,  and  footsore — reached 
the  desired  spot  and  sat  down  on  the  first  low  rock 
at  hand  to  rest  and  look  about  her.  The  air  was 
redolent  of  the  breath  of  the  sea  ;  a  bright  breeze 


io6  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

was  blowing,  which  put  a  "  sharp  head"  on  the 
chopping  waves,  and  cut  them  up  into  bustling, 
zig-zag  ridges  that  splashed  and  broke  continually 
against  the  rocks,  and  tossed  and  swayed  the  heavy- 
layers  of  seed  weed  to  and  fro. 

Save  for  Helen  the  place  was  deserted  ;  the  sea 
would  chafe  and  fret  so  foolishly  it  seemed  to  her, 
so  sadly,  too,  as  though  memory  would  not  let  it 
rest,  though  the  sky  was  cloudless.  Helen  leaned 
back  against  the  rock  and  watched  the  water,  more 
thoughtful  than  was  her  wont.  It  was  very  cool  in 
the  shade  of  the  cliff  ;  the  sea-gulls  swooped  lazily 
about  the  bay,  and  a  fleet  of  fishing- smacks,  their 
tawny  sails  bright  in  the  sunshine,  were  sailing  past 
before  the  wind. 

Presently  she  emerged  from  the  shadow  and  be- 
gan to  cross  the  rocks,  steering  her  course  toward 
their  furthest  ledge,  which  formed  a  natural  break- 
water on  the  west  of  the  reef.  She  was  light  and 
agile  of  limb,  possessed  a  fairly  steady  head  and  a 
ready  eye,  but  the  path  she  trod  was  a  perilous  one, 
for  the  seaweed  which  grew  on  the  rocks  concealed 
the  pools,  and  was,  moreover,  both  slimy  and  slip- 
pery. 

To  avoid  the  catastrophe  of  spoiling  her  boots 
and  stockings,  she  took  them  off  and  put  them  upon 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL.  107 

an  adjacent  rock.  Then,  with  an  easy  mind  and 
happy  as  a  child,  she  waded  through  the  tepid  pools 
in  which  the  green-ribbon  and  pink  tree- seaweed 
floated,  where  vividly-green  rock  fish  darted  to  and 
fro,  and  sea-anemones  unfolded  their  tinted  limbs 
until  they  bloomed  like  the  blossoms  of  a  chrysan- 
themum in  the  sunshine.  Her  observant  eyes 
missed  none  of  the  beauties  at  her  feet,  but  every 
now  and  then  she  remembered  the  dangers  of  the 
tide  and  kept  an  outlook  on  the  sea. 

She  was  enjoying  herself  after  a  childish  fashion, 
the  warm  transparent  water  was  tempting.  She 
rolled  her  sleeves  up  high,  and  kneeling  down  be- 
fore a  pool  she  plunged  her  hand  and  arm  deep 
down  among  the  seaweed  and  the  stones.  She  was 
laughing  at  the  awkward  flight  of  a  tiny  crab  when 
a  call — a  clear,  loud  call — startled  her  to  her  feet. 

She  stood  up,  raised  her  dripping,  white  hand  to 
shade  her  eyes,  and  stared  in  the  direction  whence 
the  sound  had  come.  A  little  sailing-boat,  in  which 
were  seated  Mr.  Jones  and  the  gentleman  whom 
Helen  had  seen  before  in  the  yellow- wheeled  dog- 
cart, was  within  twenty  yards  of  her.  It  was  the 
former  of  these  two  young  men  who  had  so  uncere- 
moniously hailed  her. 

"  Hey,   hey  !      You   musn't    stay   there — don't 


ioS  A   MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

stay  there!"  he  cried.  "The  tide  has  turned;  in 
two  minutes  those  gulleys  behind  you  will  be  three 
feet  deep.  If  you  don't  want  a  ducking,  you  had 
better  hurry  up,  I  can  tell  you." 

Helen  was  dismayed  ;  the  situation  was  exas- 
perating. She  did  not  move  ;  she  stooped  a  little, 
to  be  sure  that  those  dreadful  feet  of  hers  were  con- 
cealed, and  then  she  cast  a  hurried  glance  around. 
Where  was  that  rock  upon  which  she  had  stored 
her  belongings?  Alas,  she  had  not  marked  the 
place,  and  now  she  could  not  find  it. 

"I  say,  don't  wait!"  cried  the  voice  again. 
"You  will  be  drowned.  There  isn't  too  much 
time  to  get  across." 

"Thank  you — thank  you,"  she  called  back, 
feebly.     "  I  will  go — I  am  going." 

Still  she  did  not  move. 

"What  a  good-looking  girl!"  said  Mr.  Jones's 
friend.  "No  wonder  you  rowed  here  ten  thou- 
sand miles  an  hour  when  you  saw  her !  She's  a 
precious  deal  too  pretty  to  drown.  She  has  lost 
her  head,  though.     Why  don't  she  go  on  ? " 

"No  fear  of  her  losing  her  head,"  returned  the 
other,  with  an  unkind  laugh.  "  We  have  told  her 
what  to  expect,  so  if  she  wishes  to  be  drowned  she 
knows  how  to  do  it.     She  is  as  headstrong  as  '  an 


A   MATTER   OF  SKILL,  109 

allegory. '  If  her  manners  matched  her  face  she 
would  do,  but  they  don't." 

"  Poor  thing!  What  has  she  done  to  you  Ber- 
tie ?  She  has  never  jumped  on  you,  has  she.  You 
are  such  a  lucky  chap,  you  expect  to  get  all  the 
roses  and  none  of  the  thorns.  She  l  don't  take  no 
'count  of  us,'  as  you  say  in  Devon,  for  she  has  not 
budged  an  inch.'' 

"She  is  a  little  fool,"  said  Mr.  Jones,  shortly. 
"Turn  the  boat,  Mason.  We  will  bustle  up  and 
leave  her." 

After  a  mild  protest  his  friend  obeyed. 

Tacking  to  the  wind,  the  boat  sailed  down  the 
bay,  and  landed  its  occupants  on  the  shore  below 
Noelcombe.  Here  the  men  separated,  one  disap- 
pearing in  the  direction  of  Newton,  the  other- 
after  wandering  rather  aimlessly  about  the  sands 
for  a  time— suddenly  turned  his  face  westward, 
and  began  to  plod  ever  the  rough  route  which  led 
to  the  reef  of  rocks. 

Though  Miss  Helen  Mitf ord  was  ungrateful  and 
pig-headed,  and  though  Mr.  Jones  thought  it  prob- 
able that  he  should  shortly  ask  the  gentle  and  pli- 
able Lady  Lucy  Freemantle  to  marry  him,  yet  he 
was  interested  to  know  what  had  become  of  that 
slender  figure  which  he  could  still  see;  with  his 


no  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

miners  eye,  standing  in  the  sunshine,  with  her  beau- 
tiful wet  hand  and  arm  raised  and  her  earnest, 
startled  eyes  fixed  on  him.  He  had  felt  unreason- 
able anger  at  his  companion's  admiration  of  the 
girl,  anger  which  he  had  directed  upon  her  luckless 
head.  He  had  spoken  of  her  with  unjustifiable 
rudeness ;  it  was  well  for  him  that  she  had  been 
out  of  earshot  when  he  had  done  so ;  he  could 
picture  her  face  had  she,  by  an  unhappy  chance, 
overheard  his  words. 

If  she  had  not  flown  at  the  first  hint  of  danger, 
then  she  deserved  praise  for  her  pluck — not  the 
condemnation  for  rashness  which  he  had  allotted 
her. 

His  head  was  overflowing  with  thoughts  of  her. 
His  heart  misgave  him  that  he  had  not  appreciated 
the  daring  bravery  with  which  she  had  heard  of  her 
danger  (a  danger  he  had  somewhat  exaggerated), 
and  steadily,  calmy,  courageously  faced  it. 

Meanwhile,  this  calm  young  heroine,  as  soon  as 
the  boat's  head  was  turned  away,  cast  custom  and 
caution  to  the  winds.  The  choice  between  dignity 
or  drowning  was  not  hard  to  make,  between  clothed 
feet  or  safety,  seemlinesss  or  preservation,  boots  or 
death.  Stumbling,  clambering,  slipping,  she  ran 
like  a  stag  over  the  rocks,  fording  pools  and  gullies 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL.  in 

recklessly  in  her  panic,  cutting  and  bruising  her 
feet  and  accomplishing  her  painful  retreat  with 
wonderful  celerity  considering  the  difficulties  of 
her  path  and  her  constant  backward  glances  at  the 
departing  boat. 

And  so,  presently,  Mr.  Jones  saw  the  figure  for 
which  he  was  in  search  approaching  him,  but  most 
leisurely.  How  provokingly  she  dawdled ;  no 
house-laden  snail  ever  crawled  so  slowly  as  she 
now  advanced.  Could  it  be  that  she  recognized 
him,  and  from  perversity,  or  coyness,  or  some  un- 
fathomable feminine  coquetry,  lingered  for  the 
mere  purpose  of  annoying  him  ? 

Confound  her,  she  was  over-doing  it,  for  she 
actually  seated  herself  on  the  shingle  within  a  few 
yards  of  the  breaking  waves,  and  stared  out  to  sea 
as  though  she  was  as  stationary  (or  more  so)  than 
the  lighthouse.  The  dinner  hour  was  approaching 
awkwardly  near,  but  Mr.  Jones  did  not  retreat ;  on 
the  contrary,  he  quickened  his  pace,  and  with  a 
smile  in  his  eyes  and  a  tightly-closed  mouth  walked 
on.  As  he  came  nearer  to  the  girl  she  started  per- 
ceptibly ;  if  she  was  not  a  good,  nay,  more,  a  prac- 
ticed actress,  that  was  assuredly  the  first  time  she 
had  seen  him.  He  saw  her  flush,  a  scarlet,  deep 
flush,  which  dyed  her  face  and  neck,  her  lips  quiv- 


U2  A   MATTEL   OF  SKILL. 

ered,  her  eyes  sank  to  the  ground,  and  then,  with 
a  bashful,  uncertain,  hurried  movement,  she  rose 
to  her  feet. 

The  conclusion  he  naturally  deduced  from  this  I 
delightfully  unexpected  shyness  of  hers  set  his' 
heart  beating  fast,  he  had  taken  her  unawares,  and 
thus  learned  the  value  of  that  indifferent  manner 
which  it  had  pleased  her  to  adopt  toward  him. 
How  exceedingly  pretty  she  looked  !  Her  down- 
cast, black-lashed  eyes,  her  drooping  head,  that 
changing  color  of  which  he  was  the  author,  be- 
came her  royally ;  he  would  not  spoil  the  picture  by 
speaking  and  setting  her  at  her  ease.  Even  her 
voice,  as  she  addressed  him  hurriedly  by  name, 
faltered— there  was  a  deprecating  cadence,  new  as 
it  was  sweet,  in  its  tones.  His  late  companion 
had  accused  him  of  desiring  to  possess,  nay,  more, 
of  actually  possessing  "all  the  roses  and  none  of 
the  thorns " ;  this  blushing  rose  had  assuredly 
stripped  off  her  prickles,  and  she  was  a  rare  blos- 
som, the  fairest  of  her  sisters.  His  heart  warmed 
to  her,  he  would  be  most  gentle,  he  would  be  un- 
conscious of  her  constraint.  But  he  must  be 
cautious,  it  would  not  do  to  be  too— there*  his  reso- 
lutions failed  him,  for  Miss  Mitford,  with  a  second 
rapid  uncertain  movement,  sank  down  again  into 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL,  113 

her  former  position  on  the  shingle,  flushing  like 
Aurora. 

It  was  his  duty,  of  course,  to  follow  her  lead 
and  seat  himself  beside  her,  and,  late  though  it 
was,  he  felt  no  disinclination  to  do  so.  Leisurely, 
and  with  a  kind  smile,  he  placed  himself  beside 
her ;  his  reception  had  flattered  him,  he  was  sure 
of  himself. 

"  Trust  in  thyself— then  spur  amain"  for  wooing 
as  for  working,  is  an  excellent  motto. 

To  give  him  his  due,  he  made  himself  very 
agreeable  ;  how  fluently  he  talked  and  how  quietly 
she  listened ;  she  answered  him  but  in  soft  mono- 
syllables ;  he  felt  that  he  shone  in  conversation,  she 
was  evidently  well  satisfied  with  his  society,  for  she 
made  no  attempt  to  move,  she  sat  motionless  as  a 
statue.  Fired  by  the  troubled  expression  of  her 
beautiful  eyes — by  the  way,  how  her  sweet  face 
had  grown  in  expression,  the  anxiety  that  ruffled 
her  brow,  the  restlessness,  a  constraint  betrayed  by 
the  way  in  which  she  toyed  continually  with  some 
pebbles  in  her  hand,  were  all  new — he  began  to 
talk  sentiment,  it  was  not  his  way  to  be  senti- 
mental, he  hardly  knew  what  ailed  him.  Follow- 
ing her  gaze  across  the  sea,  he  began  to  descant  on 
its  beauties.     Had  she  watched  last  night's  sunset, 


H4  A   MATTER   OF  SKIIL. 

the  lights  had  been — what  did  that  poet  say?  he 
was  sure  Miss  Mitford  knew  whom  he  meant  and 
what  he  meant — "day  died  like  the  dolphin." 
Yes,  that  was  it.  Had  she  seen  a  storm  at  sea? 
Viewed  from  the  coast  he  declared  it  to  be  a  most 
glorious  sight ;  he  would  give  anything  to  be  with 
her  at  Noelcombe  when  a  real  nor'easter  was  blow- 
ing, and  the  waves  dashed  roaring  up  against  the 
rocks  and  drenched  the  cliffs  a  hundred  feet  aloft 
with  spray.  But  she  would  be  miserable,  her  kind 
heart  would  be  with  the  sailors,  and  her  thought 
of  them  would  blind  her  eyes  to  the  beauties  of  the 
storm.  He  was  getting  on  fast,  he  was  going 
ahead  ;  to  his  comrade's  unutterable  relief,  he  sud- 
denly drew  out  his  watch  and  changed  the  subject. 

"It  is  half -past  seven,"  he  announced  carelessly  ; 
he  thought  that,  perhaps,  her  watchless  position 
had  made  her  regardless  of  time.  "  At  what  a  pace 
the  time  has  gone." 

Every  nerve  in  her  body  lustily  negatived  that 
remark,  but  she  said — 

"Yes,  it  is  very,  very  late.  Won't  you"  (tim- 
idly) "be  late  for  dinner  ?" 

"Yes,"  he  returned,  with  a  regretful  sigh  ;  " un- 
less we  start  at  once,  I  shall  probably  get  no  dinner 
at  all." 


A   MATTER   OF  SKILL.  115 

"  Don't"  she  began,  with  a  sudden  boldness  ; 
"please  don't  think  it  necessary  to  wait  for  me.  I 
shall  not  go  home  for  some  time.— I  don't  know 
when  I  shall  go  home  ;  —  not  for  hours  and 
hours." 

"  Then,"  he  returned,  gravely,  "you  mean  to  de- 
prive me  altogether  of  my  dinner." 

"But,  surely,  you  have  forgoten,  you  must  go  ; 
it  is  the  night  of  your  ball." 

He  murmured  something  which  the  breaking  of 
the  waves  drowned,  but  which  was  in  reality  a  rash 
avowal  of  oblivion  to  the  mundane  matters  of  life 
under  the  present  circumstances. 

She  smiled  a  bewilderingly  kind  smile  into  his 
face. 

"Good-by,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand  to 
him.  "  I  won't  allow  you  to  stay  for  another  mo- 
ment. I  should  never  forgive  myself  if  you  lost 
your  dinner  through  your — your  politeness,  and 
don't  you  think — I'm  sure — at  least  I  think  your 
people  will  want  you  and  won't  know  where  you 
are." 

A  pathetic,  pleading  note  had  become  entangled 
in  her  hesitating  tones.  He  took  her  cold  little 
hand  and  held  it  tightly,  answering  her  with  some 
Words  apt  and  soft  enough  to  repay  her  amply  for 


u6  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

her  favor.  He  fancied  that  he  knew  a  good  deal 
about  the  ways  of  women,  but  this  one  puzzled  him. 
Game  so  easy  of  acquisition  was  sport  not  worthy 
of  the  name.  But  the  hand  which  he  held,  small 
and  cold  though  it  was,  struggled  stoutly  for  free- 
dom, so  stoutly,  indeed,  that  he  released  it. 

Poor  Helen  ;  the  failure,  or  rather  the  result  of 
her  final  effort  to  rid  herself  of  this  unconscious  ag- 
gressor overwhelmed  her.  She  was  disheartened, 
perplexed,  and  tired  out.  The  incoming  waves 
splashed  dangerously  near  her  ;  a  few  minutes  more 
and  her  present  position  would  be  untenable.  Her 
mouth  quivered  perceptibly,  and  the  tears  started  to 
her  eyes.  Mr.  Jones  noticed  these  preliminaries 
with  dismay  ;  he  had  barely  time  to  feel  that  mat- 
ters were  getting  serious,  and  to  reflect  that  the 
kissing  away  of  these  tears  would  be  a  blessed  work, 
when  her  drowned  gray  eyes  were  turned  tragically 
to  his. 

"  Won't  you  go  ?  Will  nothing  make  you  go  ?" 
she  cried,  pushing  forth,  for  one  moment,  from 
beneath  her  serge  skirt,  a  bare  and  bleeding  foot  at 
which  she  pointed  with  a  pregnant  gesture.  "I 
have  to  walk  all  the  way  over  these  dreadful,  dread- 
ful stones  barefoot.  I  could  not  find  my — my  boots 
Or  stockings  when  you  frightened  me  ;  they  were 


A   MATTER   OF  SKILL.  Uf 

out  there  on  the  rocks  ;  they  have  been  washed 
away.  Oh  !  you  are  laughing  —  how  can  you 
laugh  f ' 

And  the  tears  in  her  eyes  welled  over,  and  rolled 
slowly  ^down  her  cheeks. 


ii8  A   MATTER   OF  SKILL. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  There's  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends, 
Kough-hew  them  how  we  will." 

Shakespeare. 

"HUT  if  Mr.  Jones  had  smiled,  the  smile  arose 
***  from  a  desire  to  screen  an  inevitable  chagrin, 
rather  than  from  any  sense  of  humor  at  the  situation, 
and  at  her  words  he  became  grave  as  a  judge.  Indeed, 
he  felt  as  little  inclined  to  laugh  as  did  Helen  her- 
self at  that  moment,  for  he  was  disagreeably  con- 
scious of  having  played  the  coxcomb  in  his  thoughts. 
Had  ever  man  more  grievously  misread  a  manner  ? 
And  yet  he  was  glad — yes,  glad  that  he  had  been 
mistaken,  and  that  this  young  person  differed  from 
that  vast  tribe  of  demoiselles  a  marier,  who  ad- 
vanced uninvited  from  all  corners,  and  at  all  stages 
of  his  life,  to  meet  him. 

At  the  sight  of  her  distress,  he  forgot  himself  ; 
such  a  lapse  of  memory  was  not  quite  of  so  rare  an 
occurrence  with  Mr.  Jones  as  with  the  majority  of 


A   MATTER   OF  SKILL.  119 

his  sex.  Divesting  himself  instantly  of  that  gallant 
air  which  embarrassed  her,  with  considerable  tact 
and  kindliness  he  soothed  Helen  into  taking  a  less 
hopeless  view  of  her  position  ;  and  when  her  tears 
were  dried  and  she  was  composed,  she  found  that 
he  had  again  opened  a  road  through  which  she 
could  escape  from  a  dilemma. 

"But  I  am  giving  you  so  much  trouble  •  you  are 
so  kind/'  she  faltered. 

"Trouble  ?  Nonsense,  it's  no  trouble  at  all.  I 
was  going  into  the  village,  anyway.  I  shall  get  up 
to  your  place  in  no  time,  and  explain  what  has 
happened.  You  stay  quietly  here  ;  no,  not  just 
here,  but  a  dozen  yards  further  in.  Get  up  ;  give 
me  your  hands  ;  lean  on  me,  that's  right.  Bah ; 
how  those  beastly  stones  hurt  you.  There,  you're 
all  safe  now,  and  the  tide  won't  be  in  for  an  hour. 
Don't  move,  and  I  will  undertake  that  your  maid 
shall  bring  your  shoes  and  stockings  before  you 
know  where  you  are.  No,  don't  thank  me,  it's 
absurd.  You  know  it  was  all  my  fault  for  scaring 
you  out  of  your  life  on  the  rocks.  Good-by,  till  to- 
morrow. I  wish  " — pressing  the  hand  he  held  sud- 
denly and  firmly — "I  wish  to  heaven  that  you  were 
coming  to  our  dance  to-night." 

But  before  he  had  reached  Noelcombe,  when  his 


%2o  A   MATTER   OF  SKILL, 

young  blood  had  had  time  to  cool,  and  when  the 
extraordinary  influence  of  the  girl's  presence  was 
removed,  he  was  no  longer  sure  of  the  truth  of  that 
forcibly  expressed  desire,  for  he  remembered  Lady 
Lucy  to  whom  he  had  already  engaged  himself  for 
half  a  dozen  dances,  and  to  whom  he  quite  intended 
to  engage  himself  for  life. 

Some  time  later  that  evening,  Miss  Elizabeth 
Mitf ord,  her  spectacles  upon  her  nose,  was  delicately 
perambulating  her  dewy  lawn,  withhei^upgathered 
skirts  in  one  hand  and  a  jam-pot  containing  a  dead- 
ly solution  of  salt  and  water  in  the  other.  The 
passion  of  her  nationality,  the  thirst  for  sport, 
shone  in  her  eager,  downcast  eyes. 

While  she  was  thus  engaged,  her  niece  came  out 
from  beneath  the  embowered  porch  and  stood 
silently  looking  across  the  bay.  Helen  was  tired, 
her  eyes  were  languid,  her  expression  was  soft  and 
subdued,  her  vigorous  spirits  were  no  longer  aggress- 
ive, and  contrary  to  her  usual  habit,  she  preserved 
a  lengthy  silence.  The  flower-scented  air  was 
warm,  the  sinking  sun,  like  a  ball  of  fire,  lay  in  the 
"dappled  sky,"  the  clouds,  crimson,  purple  and 
gold,  cast  broad  shadows  upon  the  indigo  back- 
ground of  the  sea  and  were  reflected  in  fainter  tints 
upon  the  gaunt  cliffs.     Standing  against  a  back- 


A   MATTER   OF  SKTLL.  121 

ground  of  myrtle  and  rose  trees,  she  watched  the 
wondrous  picture  of  the  sea  and  of  the  sunset,  and 
was  still.  Thoughtful,  perforce,  and  against  her 
will,  for  thought  is  pain  and  pain  is  not  to  be  toler- 
ated in  so  blithe  a  world.  Helen  was  not  given  to 
meditation,  she  was  emphatically  a  woman  of 
speech,  not  of  deliberation.  Neither  had  it  been 
her  habit  to  indulge  in  day-dreaming — she  wanted 
no  more  than  she  owned,  she  preferred  fact  to 
fancy,  therefore  the  building  of  an  air-castle  was  a 
distinct  waste  of  time  which  might  have  been  bet- 
ter employed  in  enjoying  life  in  the  solid  cottage 
wherein  her  lot  was  cast. 

The  result  of  her  present  reflection  was  a  smile, 
not  a  sigh. 

u  Auntie,  let  those  wretched  slugs  live  on  for  just 
one  more  night,"  she  said;  her  suggestions  were 
apt  to  fall  from  her  autocratic  lips  in  the  guise  of 
commands.  "  Come  over  here,  and  look  at  the  sea 
and  let  me  talk  to  you.  When  you  are  slug-hunt- 
ing, you  never  hear  a  word  I  say." 

Thus  adjured,  the  disturbed  sportswoman  drew 
herself  upright  by  a  stiff  effort,  and  with  a  guilty 
confusion  turned  to  her  niece. 

"  My  love,  I  did  not  see  you,  I  thought  you  were 
in  the  drawing-room  singing  that  odd  song  of  yours 


i22  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

or  I  should  not  have  come  out  here.     How,"  anx 
iously,  "  are  your  poor,  dear  feet  ?" 

Helen  looked  down  critically  at  those  invalids, 
which  were  roaming  within  her  aunt's  capacious 
house  boots — cloth  boots,  they  were  capped  with 
patent  leather,  lined  with  scarlet  flannel,  side  laced, 
devoid  of  heels  and  roomy. 

"Oh,  they  are  all  right  now,  Auntie,  they  don't 
hurt  at  all,  I  had  forgotten  them.  I  assure  you,  it 
is  awful  when  they  press  their  identity  on  one— as 
mine  did  upon  me  on  the  beach." 

"  Mr.  Jones  is  a  most  kind-hearted  person, 
Helen." 

The  girl  had  turned  aside  to  pick  a  crimson  rose 
from  the  tree  behind  her,  which  she  placed  in  the 
bosom  of  her  gown  :  she  was  humming  very  softly 

"  It  may  draw  you  a  tear 
Or  a  box  on  the  ear, 
You  can  never  be  sure  till  you've  tried." 

"  I  learned  both  the  value  of  boots  and  of  mes- 
sengers," she  answered,  watching  the  sky. 

Though  Miss  Elizabeth  had  obediently  joined 
Helen,  her  eyes  were  not  on  that  miraculous  and 
glorious  panorama  of  changing  color  to  which  they 
had  been  directed,  but  had  crept  down  to  the  hunt- 
ing ground  at  her  feet. 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL.  \t% 

"Auntie,"  in  a  slow,  low-pitched  tone,  "were 
you  ever  in  love  ? " 

Miss  Elizabeth,  scrutinizing  the  lawn,  said,  with 
a  pre-occupied  air. 

"  What  did  you  say,  my  dear  ? " 

"  Were  you  ever  in  love  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes,  my  dear,  to  be  sure  I  was." 

"  Then  you  fell  in  love  ?  " 

"Yes,  yes,  certainly  I  did." 

"  Well  ? "  inquisitively." 

No  answer. 

"Well,  Auntie?"  a  little  louder,  and  persua- 
sively. 

"  Well—what— my  dear  ? " 

"  What  happened  when  you  were  in  love  ? " 

"  Nothing  which  I  can  at  this  moment  recollect, 
Helen." 

"Then  you  were  not  engaged  ?" 

"Yes,  indeed,  I  was  engaged  for  nearly  a  year, 
love.  It  was  an  anxious  time  and  Thomas  jilted 
me." 

Helen  drew  in  her  breath  and  flushed.  Her 
curiosity  had  inflicted  a  wound  on  this  poor  lady, 
who  must  yet  be  made  of  tough  material  for  she 
had  been  jilted,  jilted,  JILTED,  and  yet  her  out- 
raged pride  had  not  killed  her!     Helen,   in  her 


%U  A   MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

angry  distress,  could  not  speak,  but  the  victim  of 
the  wrong  manifesting  no  agitation,  she  went  on 
commenting  on  the  circumstance  with  serene  com- 
|  plaisance. 

"Dear  me,  Helen,  you  have  no  notion  how  un- 
pleasant it  all  seemed,  and  how  foolishly  I  fretted. 
It  is  hard  to  foresee  in  a  present  distress  a  future 
gain.  Providence  was  very  good  to  me.  The  poor 
thing  for  whom  he  jilted  me  became  his  wife— a 
position  I  was  ignorant  enough  to  envy  her.  She 
has  had  a  hard  life,  for  he  made  a  most  uncomfort- 
able and  selfish  husband,  while  I,  my  dear,  have 
spent  the  autumn  of  my  happy  life  without  a  care. 
My  love,  the  adoption  of  a  life-partner  is  too  great 
a  risk  to  be  willingly  undertaken  by  any  one  except 
those  who  are  fearless  through  the  inexperience  of 
their  extreme  youth.  .  . — My  goodness  me  !  Helen, 
there,  look,  upon  the  stalk  of  that  tender  picotee ! 
\  Do  you  see  it  ?  Eapacious  little  wretch  !  I  must 
I  secure  him."  And  she  ran  back  to  recommence  her 
engrossing  occupation.  Then  Helen  re-entered  the 
little  porch  and  a  few  minutes  later  the  sound  of 
music  reached  Miss  Elizabeth  through  the  open 
window.  Helen  was  singing  a  new  song,  unfamil- 
iar to  the  household. 
Upon  the  following  afternoon  the  younger  Miss 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL,  nj 

Mitford,  looking  as  sweet  and  fresh  and  fair  as  the 
flowers  around  her,  was  fidgeting  about  the  grass- 
plot  as  she  waited  for  the  carriage  which  Lady 
Jones  had  promised  should  call  at  four  o'clock  to  ,« 
pick  her  up  on  its  way  to  Bivers  Meet.  She  wore,  [ 
with  sad  extravagance,  her  very  best  gown,  a  thin 
electric  cotton  that  matched  the  color  of  her  eyes, 
and  clad  in  which  she  looked  her  best,  and  knew  it. 
In  her  waistbelt  she  had  carefully  stowed  a  whole 
parterre  of  her  aunt's  choicest  carnations;  her  nut- 
brown  lovelocks  were  arranged  to  perfection  be- 
neath the  broad  brim  of  her  hat. 

"  Too-to-to-too-toot !"  the  stirring  and  lively  call 
of  a  horn,  the  rumble  of  wheels,  the  sharp  trot  of 
horses'  hoofs,  the  jingling  of  harness  precursed  the 
arrival  of  the  Jones'  coach,  which  presently,  loaded 
with  a  boisterous,  laughing,  happy  crew,  drew  up 
alongside  the  door  of  Carnation  Cottage. 

Neither  Lady  Jones  nor  her  son  were  among  the 
party,  but  a  girl,  whom  Helen  afterward  learned  to 
be  Patricia  Jones,  called  out,  listlessly — 

"How  do  you  do?"  following  the  question  by 
the  advice  to  "Get  up  as  fast  as  possible,  for  the 
horses  won't  stand." 

So  Helen  mounted  the  steps  precipitately  and 
squeezed  herself  into  the  small  space  on  the  third 


t26  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL, 

seat  back  whither  she  was  directed — a  little  abashed 
at  finding  herself  the  one  outsider  among  a  party  of 
intimates — a  position  seldom  enviable.  Her  happy 
faculty  of  easy  enjoyment  served  her  in  good  stead 
during  that  drive,  for,  more  from  lack  of  invitation 
than  want  of  inclination,  she  took  small  part  in 
that  "  feast  of  reason  and  flow  of  soul"  floating 
around  her.  She  was  in  the  habit  of  taking  her 
stand  in  the  foreground  of  the  scene  ;  here  she  was 
unceremoniously  thrust  into  the  background,  and 
subsequently  ignored — no  doubt  a  wholesome  though 
an  unpalatable  experience  for  the  damsel,  who,  how- 
ever, laughed  at  such  witticisms  as  she  heard,  ob- 
served the  company,  and  craned  her  neck  first  on 
one  side,  then  on  the  other,  to  catch  a  full  sight  of 
the  surrounding  country,  and  culled  plenty  of  pleas- 
ure from  so  doing.  Patricia,  Anastasia,  and  the 
other  half-dozen  girls  were  fully  occupied  with  their 
respective  swains,  and  the  aftermath  of  the  pre- 
vious night's  flirtations  was  being  cropped  on  all 
sides. 

The  young  man  whom  Helen  had  seen  with  Mr. 
Jones  in  the  boat  was  driving,  and  by  his  side  on 
the  box-seat  Anastasia  sat ;  such  attention  as  he 
could  spare  from  the  team,  which  required  careful 
handling  over  the  Devon  roads^  she  engrossed. 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL.  127 

Once,  and  once  only,  Patricia  addressed  her 
silent  guest — 

"  I'm  afraid  you  have  not  much  room,  Miss  Mit- 
ford.  My  brother  said  you  would  go  in  the  landau 
with  my  mother,  and  she  forgot  all  about  you  and 
started  an  hour  ago."  Then,  turning  to  the  man 
next  her,  she  went  on — "  Bertie  drove  Lady  Lucy 
in  the  dogcart ;  she  was  more  than  half  afraid,  but 
he  insisted." 

"  Have  they  settled  it  ?"  he  asked,  with  that 
sort  of  smile  which  flickers  only  over  one  "it." 

Miss  Jones  shrugged  her  high,  broad  shoulders. 

"  Bertie  is  like  all  the  rest  of  you,  Sir  Edwin," 
she  returned — "  doesn't  know  his  own  mind.  The 
fact  is  he  is  an  unconscionable  flirt,  though  if  one 
told  him  so  he  wouldn't  believe  it." 

The  gentleman  addressed  murmured  some  re- 
sponse, at  which  Patricia's  rosy  cheeks  grew  rosier, 
and  to  which  she  retorted  with  gratified  smiles. 

Helen  was  an  unsympathetic  observer  of  these 
soft  passages  ;  her  lips  hardened  a  little.  "  They 
are  all  making  fools  of  themselves — every  one,"  she 
thought,  and  she  plumed  herself  on  her  superiority 
to  these  weaknesses. 

Up  and  down  the  heaving  country  the  strong 
team  of  hill- trained  horses  trotted  fast.      The  air 


123  A   MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

fanned  a  color  into  Helen's  cheeks,  and  brightened 
her  eyes.  The  chaperon  of  the  party  was  a  girl, 
little  older  than  Helen  herself,  whose  husband  was 
-Helen's  neighbor,  and  who,  before  they  reached 
their  destination,  fell  into  a  broken  conversation  j 
with'her.  When  they  alighted  at  Rivers  Meet  he 
elected  to  constitute  himself  her  companion,  and 
though  he  was  heavy,  dull,  and  universally  discon- 
tented, she  was  compelled  to  accept  his  proffered 
society,  as  it  seemed  to  be  a  choice  between  him 
as  her  squire  or  no  one.  Thus  she  spent- the  greater 
part  of  the  time  with  him,  trying  conscientiously  to 
amuse  and  interest  him,  but  failing  obviously.  She 
received  a  careless  smile  and  a  pre-occupied  greet- 
ing from  her  young  host.  He  did  not  speak  to  her  ; 
his  presence  was  in  great  demand.  A  girl  with  a 
weak,  inanimate  face,  whom  Helen  heard  addressed 
as  Lady  Lucy,  was  always  by  his  side,  and  he  seemed 
to  bestow  some  of  that  superfluous  energy  of  his  j 
upon  the  arrangement  of  the  picnic,  for  the  serv- 1 
ants  were  flying  to  and  fro  at  his  behests. 

Now  this  wise  young  man  had  read  "  the  books 
of  woman's  looks"  rather  deeply  :  he  knew  the 
feminine  weakness  that  desires  everything  except 
that  one  thing  which  she  possesses,  that  values  noth- 
ing which  she  owns,  but  ever  casts  a  covetous  eye 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL.  1*0 

upon  the  unattainable,  and  so,  though' with  consid- 
erable reluctance,  he  scrupulously  neglected  Helen. 
The  picnic  part  of  the  entertainment  was  worthy  of 
its  source — iced  drinks  with  startling  names  ;  sand- 
wiches cool,  curious,  and  unwholesome  ;  tea,  coffee, 
sugared  and  almonded  cakes,  bon-bons,  and  tea- 
table  accessories  beloved  of  women  were  pressed 
upon  the  guests  by  troops  of  servants.  No  man 
need  stir  a  finger  on  his  comrade's  behalf,  and  there- 
fore the  men,  for  once  in  a  way,  enjoyed  a  picnic. 

After  tea  Helen  and  her  squire  were  wandering 
lazily  along  the  side  of  the  brawling  river,  the  noise 
of  which  was  an  excuse  for  maintaining  silence — so 
she  diplomatically  suggested,  for  she  found  herself 
afc  the  utmost  tether  of  easy  discourse — while  each 
was  secretly  wondering  how  soon  the  call  of  the 
horn  would  summon  them  for  their  return  journey. 
The  gentleman  was  grateful  to  Helen,  first  for  her 
face,  which  he  admired,  secondly  for  having  saved 
him  any  trouble  in  conversation  ;  but  for  all  that 
he  was  thinking,  not  of  her,  but  of  his  dinner,  while 
she  was  conscious  of  being  tired,  disappointed,  and 
puzzled. 

Why  had  Mr.  Jones  been  so  anxious  that  she 
should  go  to  Rivers  Meet  ?  Though  his  was  the 
only  familiar  face  among  all  these  strangers,  he  had 


1 3o  A   MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

never  once  come  near  her.  He  was  not  the  least 
desirous  of  her  company,  he  was  unconscious  of  her 
presence,  which  he  had  certainly  been  at  some  pains 
to  secure.  She  had  thought  about  him  a  good  deal, 
she  had  never  thought  of  any  stranger  so  much  be- 
fore. She  was  thinking  about  him  at  the  very  mo- 
ment when  he  emerged  from  behind  the  granite, 
moss-fringed  bowlder  before  her  and  joined  them. 
This  time  he  was  alone,  no  insipid  pale-eyed  girl  to 
monopolize  him.  Helen  was  accustomed  to  receiv- 
ing deference,  if  not  devotion,  from  men  ;  she  al- 
most considered  it  her  due.  Almost  simultaneously 
with  his  appearance  the  tooting  of  the  horn  broke 
above  the  roaring  of  the  water  and  echoed  among 
the  hills ;  this  was  the  sound  for  which  she  had 
been  eagerly  listening,  it  had  come  but  just  three 
minutes  too  soon. 

"That  is  the  muster,  old  chap,"  said  Helen's 
squire  with  alacrity,  addressing  Mr.  Jones.  "  Come 
along,  Miss  Mitford,  you  and  I  must  be  off.  Aw- 
fully noisy  place  this — Niagara  not  in  it.  Shan't 
be  sorry  to  get  into  the  quiet.  See  you  again. 
Good-by.     Good-by. 

"  Good-by,  Jack,"  said  he,  "but  it  isn't  good-by 
to  Miss  Mitford.  If  she  will  allow  me,  I  am  to 
have  the  pleasure  of  driving  her  back  in  my  cart. 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL.  131 

Lady  Lucy  fancies  there  is  going  to  be  a  thunder- 
storm, so  she  has  booked  for  the  landau,  and  I  can't 
be  such  a  brute  as  to  sunder  any  of  the  couples  on 
the  coach." 

By  this  speech  Mr.  Jones  had  shown  the  sub- 
tlety of  the  serpent ;  by  his  indifferent,  but  incon- 
testable invitation,  he  precluded  the  possibility  of 
Helen's  either  refusing  his  escort  or  guessing  at 
what  pains  he  had  been  in  perfecting  the  present 
arrangement.  To  which  arrangement  she  ac- 
quisced  quite  graciously — her  pride  would  not  al- 
low her  to  wince  beneath  the  punishment  to  her 
vanity. 

1  •  Will  you  go  down  and  see  the  start,  Miss  Mit- 
ford  ?  Or  will  you  come  a  hundred  yards  higher 
up  the  stream  and  have  a  look  at  the  pools  ? " 

She  hesitated  ;  she  had  no  inclination  to  see  the 
start,  she  had  no  interest  in  her  late  companions. 
Mr.  Jones  read  her  silence  to  his  liking. 

"  We  won't  see  them  off.  Good-by's  are  melan- 
choly duties,  you  are  quite  right.  Come  along  down 
this  path,  it's  not  far,"  and  he  led  the  way  through 
the  bracken,  "but  such  a  ripping  place  when  you 
get  there.  We  have  plenty  of  time,  I  am  going  to 
drive  you  home  by  the  new  cut  round  the  Great 
Tor~it  is  a  shorter  way  than  the  way  you  came,  but 


132  A  MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

the  road  isn't  safe  for  coaching.  You  want  a  good 
head  and  a  steady  nerve  to  appreciate  the  view,  but 
you  possess  both,  I  know." 

He  went  on  talking  with  great  ease  and  friend- 
liness. It  really  was  impossible  to  remember  lost  [ 
parental  IPs,  plebian  progenitors,  overbearing  sis- 
ters, or  purse-proud  oddities,  in  company  with  the 
sunny  mood  of  this  genial  comrade.  What  grati- 
fication was  to  be  found  in  holding  aloof  from  and 
sulking  with  a  person  who  is  blind  to  your  frigidity, 
who  listens  eagerly  to  your  remarks,  who  under- 
stands and  responds  to  your  smiles,  who  meets  your 
thought  half  way  with  an  answering  thought,  and 
who,  this  last  clause  is  the  most  effective  in  the  cate- 
gory— should  it  please  you  to  turn  your  back  upon 
and  leave  him,  would  be  quite  as  happy,  content, 
and  debonair,  with  some  other  young  woman  beside 
him.  Helen  did  not  argue  either  with  him  or  with 
herself,  but  she  forgot  his  drawbacks,  though  she 
meant  to  remember  them — and  responded  to  his 
mood.  She  became  friendly  and  enjoyed  herself, 
her  face  was  always  dangerously  expressive  of  her 
feelings,  he  saw  at  once  that  she  was  pleased. 

Precipitous  hills  inclosed  a  wide  ravine  through 
which  a  swift  and  angry  river  dashed,  striking 
against  impending  bowlders  with  a  roar,  gushing 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL.  133 

in  shallow  cascades  over  the  stones,  rushing  with 
silent  but  mighty  force  beneath  the  rocky  banks. 
At  one  spot  a  cluster  of  jagged  bowlders  had  been 
detached  from  the  overhanging  cliff  and  had  fallen 
into  the  bed  of  the  river,  subduing,  by  their  strength, 
the  frenzy  of  the  water,  which  lay  in  deep,  dark, 
brooding  pools  between  them.  Further  on,  like  a 
giant  refreshed,  and  with  an  outburst  of  fury,  the 
water  in  a  spouting  sheet  poured  over  a  lofty  fall, 
and  thundering  down,  sped  headlong  on  its  course 
to  the  sea. 

To  this  locality  Bertie  guided  his  companion. 

"Isn't  this  ripping?"  said  he,  leaning  against 
the  rock,  upon  a  ledge  of  which  she  had  seated  her- 
self. "I  wanted  you  to  see  the  pools.  I  knew  you 
would  like  Eivers  Meet.  Just  look  and  listen,  I 
won't  talk  to  you.  A  human  voice  or  a  human  be- 
ing is  superfluous  here.  We  are  too  insignificant  to 
assert  ourselves  ;  we  ought  to  take  back  seats  and 
keep  quiet." 

The  brawling  river  drowned  his  last  words, 
which  he  had  addressed  more  to  himself  than  to 
her. 

She  clasped  her  hands  tightly,  and  did  as  he  told 
her.  She  looked  and  listened,  she  forgot  him,  she 
forgot  herself,  her  eyes  grew  dim  with  wonder  and 


*34  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL 

with  awe,  her  quickened  breath  rose  and  fell 
sharply. 

Before  the  eternal  beauty  of  those  hills  and 
vales,  before  the  overwhelming  majesty  of  God's 
creation,  her  puny  ' '  pride  of  life  "  was  annihilated. 
She  turned  to  him  for  sympathy  as  a  child  might 
turn. 

"And  I  shall  go  away  and  forget  it!"  she 
sighed,  and  then  added,  slowly — 

"  Oh,  Memory  shield  rue  from  the  world's  poor  strife, 
And  give  these  scenes  thine  everlasting  life." 

She  was  astounding  him  by  this  departure  :  but 
he  said  again,  in  that  familar  formula  which,  like 
one  of  Humpty  Dumpty's  words,  did  duty  with  him 
for  a  reflection — 

"It's  ripping  /" 

"It  makes  me  good,"  she  said — "  makes  me 
want  to  be  good.     Nothing  else  matters.     All  the 
things  we  value  are  nothing — "they  are  ridiculous 
I  want  only  to  be  good." 

He  nodded.  He  knew,  or  guessed,  what  she 
meant ;  but  he,  was  a  genuine  John  Bull,  to  whom 
gush  is  impossible.  Only  upon  a  very  great  emer- 
gency was  a  glimpse  below  his  leveled  surface  to  be 
obtained. 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL.  135 

He  kept  his  eyes  on  her  glowing  face  in  lieu  of 
those  glorious  waters.  She  caught  his  glance,  hesi- 
tated, blushed,  and  then  jumped  to  her  feet. 

uWe  ought  to  go,"  she  said  ;  and  as  he  did  not  ■ 
dispute  her  assertion,  she  retraced  her  steps,  he  fob  \ 
lowing  in  her  wake. 


%$6  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"  Is't  possible  that  on  so  little  acquaintance  you  should 
like  her  ?  that,  but  seeing,  you  should  love  her  ?  and  lov- 
ing, woo  ?  **  As  You  Like  It. 

YJfcT OMAN — let  her  assert  her  independence  never 
*"  so  emphatically — is  naturally  a  dependent 
growth.  She  belongs,  if  not  to  the  genus  parasite,  to 
the  tribe  of  creepers,  and  without  a  trellis- work  to 
which  to  attach  her  delicate,  but  tenacious, 
tendrils  she  falls — a  straggling,  useless,  mean- 
ingless  cumberer  of  the .  ground,  whose  very  blos- 
soms are  hidden  or  trodden  under  foot.  The 
trellis  work  to  which  she  clings  is  not  inevitably 
love.  No,  the  stancher,  if  less  happy,  foundation 
of  duty,  labor,  self-abnegation,  ambition,  or  philan- 
thropy may  uphold  her.  By  any  one  of  these 
she,  creeping,  climbs — slowly,  laboriously,  pain- 
fully, but  still  she  climbs  upward.  Without  one 
or  other  of  these  supports  she  droops,  forlorn  and 
useless. 
Some  one  who  speaks  with  authority  has  said 


A   MATTER   OF  SKILL.  137 

"that  man  is  at  his  best  when  he  stands  alone"; 
bnt  it  is  not  so  with  women.  To  her  a  prop  is  a 
necessity — a  prop  self -created  or  bestowed,  but  a 
prop,  an  object,  a  trellis- work  upon  which  to  cling 
until  the  " fever  which  we  call  life"  is  past. 

Helen  never  thought  seriously  of  the  path  of 
life  which  she  was  treading,  or  whither  it  led. 
The  sense  of  its  duties  and  responsibilities,  its 
possibilities  and  impossibilities,  she  shook  off  her 
mind  as  a  duck  shakes  the  water  from  its  feathers. 
She  had  lived  in  an  atmosphere  of  love  and  happi- 
ness; she  had  been  shielded  from  all  troubles.  She 
had  been  petted,  admired,  sought  after,  and  to  her 
opinion  her  companions  had  deferred.  The  little 
god  Cupid  she  simply  despised ;  if  any  of  her  ac- 
quaintances had  shown  symptoms  of  desire  to  pay 
tribute  to  his  shrine,  this  young  Diana's  attitude 
grew  forbidding — she  would  have  none  of  it. 

Mr.  Flight  alone  had  stoutly  defied  her  wishes, 
and  thrust  his  unwelcome  affection  obstinately  be- 
fore her.  He  had  been  humble,  subservient,  dismal, 
but  he  had  been  passionately  in  earnest.  For  the 
first  time  in  her  life,  Helen  had  realized  that  this 
love  of  which  she  had  heard  and  read  was  a  serious 
thing,  and  not  the  mere  idle  dream,  born  of  fancy, 
which  she  had  hitherto  considered  it. 


*38  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL 

As  a  matter  of  course,  but  with  complete  author- 
ity, Mr.  Jones  took  Helen's  guidance  into  his  hands. 
He  helped  her  into  the  cart,  wrapped  a  light  rug 
over  her  knees,  and  negatived  her  ardent  desire  to 
drive  herself  decidedly. 

"Lean  back,"  he  said.  "That  seat  is  pretty 
comfortable,  and  you  must  be  tired." 

"I'm  not  the  least  tired.  I  should  like  to 
drive." 

"  Are  you  used  to  driving  ?" 

"Yes." 

She  was  accustomed  to  driving  the  Rector's 
rough  gray  pony,  which  lived  in  the  paddock,  and 
was  twenty  years  old. 

"Then  you  shall  take  the  reins  presently. 
She's  fresh  at  starting,  and  I  know  her  ways. 
She  will  soon  cool  down.  Do  you  mind  my  smok- 
ing?" 

"Not  if  the  wind  won't  blow  it  in  my  face," 
she  candidly  replied.  She  did  not  share  the  mod- 
ern damsel's  oft-asserted  passion  for  the  fragrance 
of  tobacco. 

"The  wind  is  the  other  way,  and  I'm  half  a 
foot  above  you,"  he  urged,  with  some  natural 
anxiety. 

"Then  smoke,  by  all  means." 


A  MATTER   OF   SKILL.  139 

He  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket. 

"  I  haven't  a  light,"  he  told  her,  "  so  I  can't." 

And  he  mounted  to  her  side  and  they  started. 

Few  mild  enjoyments  equal  that  soothing  sense 
of  drowsy  well-being  in  which  a  tired  frame  revels 
as  it  is  driven  through  the  balmy  air  of  a  warm 
summer  evening,  with  a  fresh  horse  between  the 
shafts  that  covers  the  ground  with  a  long,  easy, 
equal  stride — traversing,  too,  such  wild  and  won- 
drous scenery  as  beggars  description. 

Helen's  face  still  wore  the  reflection  of  that 
softened  intensity  of  feeling  which  it  had  caught 
by  the  river  side.  The  long  hours  she  had  passed 
in  the  open  air  had  lulled  the  aggressive  vivacity  of 
her  youth  ;  the  spirit  of  mischief  no  longer  sharp- 
ened her  eyes,  her  dimples  played  faintly  in  her 
soft  cheeks.  She  was  gentle,  therefore  more 
womanly,  and  for  that  reason  a  thousand  times 
more  winning  than  before. 

He  and  she  were  talking  as  though  they  had 
been  friends  from  childhood.  If  that  cool  brother- 
demeanor  of  his  was  assumed  for  her  deception,  it 
was  a  clever  and  seductive  mask. 

"  How  did  you  like  Jack  Peel?"  he  was  asking 
her.  "  You  and  he  spent  the  day  together  pretty 
well,  didn't  you  2" 


A   MATTER  OF  SKILL 

"He  sat  next  me  on  the  drag.  I  liked  him — a 
little  ;  but  he  hates  everybody,  and  doesn't  admire 
anything." 

"  I  suppose  he  admires  Mrs.  Peel  V 

" Isn't  she  pretty  ?  I'didn't  know  she  was  mar- 
ried— at  least,  not  to  him." 

"  You  mean  she  flirts  1    Oh  yes,  she  does." 

"  She  is  very  pretty  and  amusing." 

"  She's  a  butterfly,  but  a  man  wants  more  than 
color,  down,  beauty,  to  live  upon.  That  sort  of 
thing  is  stunning  but  you  want  sunshine  to  show  it 
off.  A  butterfly  isn't  much  to  admire  on  a  wet 
day.  A  good  deal  of  rain  falls  in  Devon— and  else- 
where." 

"Ona  wet  day  one  can  stay  indoors." 

Helen  had  a  suspicion  that  she  was  a  butterfly, 
her  high  spirits  were  fatiguing. 

' '  A  butterfly  indoors  ;  think  of  the  fluttering  on 
the  window-pane." 

"  A  butterfly  can't  help  being  a  butterfly." 

"No  more  than  a  chrysalis  can  help  being  a 
chrysalis.  Both  are  very  nice  in  their  way,  but  I 
have  no  wish  to  own  either  one  or  the  other. 
Don't  argue  with  me  please,  I'm  not  up  to  it,  but  1 
know  what  I  mean  and  I  know  what  I  like.  I  want 
a  wife  far  better  than  I  am  myself 3  some  one  who 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL.  141 

would  keep  me  up  to  the  mark,  some  one  who  would 
do  what  I  told  her  and  yet  some  one  whom  I  should 
only  tell  to  go  her  own  way  because  I  should  know 
her  way  to  be  wise  and  straight.  I  couldn't  stand 
any  woman  whom  I  had  to  look  after,  it  would 
knock  the  love  clean  out  of  me." 

All  this  rather  overwhelmed  Helen,  she  did  not 
know  how  interesting  this  lady  in  the  clouds  had 
lately  become  to  Mr.  Jones. 

"  So  you  would  like  to  marry  an  angel,"  she  re- 
marked, with  a  malicious  smile,  "poor  angel  I" 

He  laughed. 

"Poor  angel,"  he  repeated  glancing  at  her. 
"  How  can  an  angel  be  poor,  Madam  ?  The  sense 
of  her  superiority  would  keep  her  rich,  and  me 
humble.     No  angel,  however  angelic,  for  me." 

"  You  are  hard  to  please." 

"  On  the  contrary  I  am  always  pleased  but  never 
satisfied. 

"I  think  a  man  ought  to  be  very  thankful  if  he 
persuades  any  woman,  of  any  sort,  to  be  his  wife," 
retorted  Miss  Mitford,  yawning  deliberately. 

Her  words  and  her  yawn  disconcerted  her  com- 
panion and  for  some  minutes  they  drove  on  in 
silence.  As  a  rule,  the  honored  girls  to  whom  he 
confided  his  sentiments  concerning  the  future  Mrs, 


143  A   MATTEX   OF  SKILL. 

Jones  hung  upon  his  words  as  though  they  were 
oracles  ;  but  if  they  were  discreet,  they  committed 
themselves  by  no  comments,  looking  all  they  did 
not  say,  for  those  sentiments  of  his  had  been  known 
to  change  repeatedly. 

How  little  we  guess  what  impression  we  make 
upon  others  or  what  opinion  they  form  of  us. 
How  differently  different  people  estimate  our  char- 
acter. .  To  Helen's  own  intimate  friends  and  re- 
lations she  seemed  a  gay,  mischievious,  lovable  girl, 
whose  unshadowed  weal  accounted  for  her  want  of 
softness,  but  to  Mr.  Jones  her  gayety  had  been  con- 
spicuous by  its  absence.  When  he  had  offended 
her  by  his  allusion  to  butterflies  how  could  he  fancy 
that  she  would  fit  her  stately  head  into  the  cap, 
feeling  angered  and  wounded  by  his  just  attack? 
She  had  (as  had  he)  been  brought  up  on  commen- 
dation, but  this  self-satisfied  young  man  always 
seemed  to  get  her  at  a  disadvantage,  she  had  begun 
to  wish  to  please  him,  and  she  fancied  she  had 
failed,  the  fancy  irritated  her  a  little.  She  would 
have  liked  to  impress  him  by  her  beauty,  her  dig- 
nity, her  calmness,  her  good  breeding,  but  he  did  not 
seem  to  notice  her  advantages.  The  sun  had  sunk 
beneath  a  mass  of  gloomy  cloulds,  which  were 
gathering  in  heavy  groups  over  the  now  dingy 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL.  143 

sky  and  cast  abroad  black  shadows  on  the  hills,  the 
air  had  grown  heavy  but  was  stirred  by  a  warm, 
rising  wind.  When  our  travelers  reached  the  New 
Cut  to  which  Mr.  Jones  had  alluded,  and  came  in 
sight  of  the  sea,  its  horizon  was  dim  with  fog,  and 
the  waves  murmured  listlessly  and  softly. 

Mr.  Jones  had  warned  Helen  that  she  would 
require  a  steady  nerve  and  strong  head  if  she 
was  to  enjoy  the  view,  and  he  was  right,  for  the 
road  on  which  she  found  herself  was  hewed  out 
of  the  hillside.  It  was  a  ledge  cut  on  the  side 
of  a  mighty  cliff  which  towered  perpendicularly 
overhead  on  the  left  hand  and  on  the  right  de- 
scended a  sheer  precipice,  a  thousand  feet,  into  the 
sea. 

Down  below  in  the  bay  the  slumberous  waves 
rippled  lazily  over  sunken  rocks  and  gently  laved 
the  hollowed  crags,  lulled  by  the  caressing  air,  into 
forgetf ulness  of  storm  and  wind.  The  sea-breeze 
was  idly  whispering  as  if  the  blast  of  sfcorm  and  fury 
were  unknown.  The  sea-wave  was  trifling  with 
her  cold  lover  the  rock  as  if  she  could  never  again, 
spurred  by  the  gusts  of  love  and  despair,  break  into 
passionate  and  desperate  longing.  Delusive  calm  ; 
for,  soon  surging  and  lashing  her  misery  to  mad- 
ness, she  shall  shatter  her  glorious  billows  into  a 


144  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

thousand  fragments  as  she  beats  herself  to  death 
against  his  impenetrable  heart. 

The  width  of  the  road  upon  which  the    dog- 
cart was  traversing  was  broad  enough  to  admit  of  ( 
two    carriages  driving  abreast.      A  low  wooden  \ 
paling  had  been  roughly    extemporized    on    the  ' 
extreme    verge   of  the    precipice,  but  this  every 
here  and   there  had   crumbled    away   and    disap- 
peared, leaving  no  barrier,  however  frail,  between 
the  traverser  of  that  giddy  pass  and  an  apalling 
death. 

For  the  first  few  minutes  of  the  crossing  Helen 
tried  to  admire  the  view. 

''How  beautiful—"  she  murmured  below  her 
breath,  struggling  for  those  steady  nerves  with  the 
possession  of  which  she  had  been  credited.  "  Oh, 
Mr.  Jones,"  with  a  sudden  collapse  of  courage, 
"please,  be  careful." 

At  her  words  he  reigned  in  the  horse. 

"Don't  you  like  it  ?  Shall  we  turn  back  ?  lean 
turn  in  a  moment." 

Turn  !  her  head  reeled  at  the  thought. 

"  Oh,  no ;  go  on.  I  like  it.  I'm  not  afraid. 
Only  you  won't  drive  fast  f  You  will  keep  dose  to 
the  side,  won't  you  ? " 

"You  are  quite  sure  that  you  would  not  rather 


A   MATTER  OF  SKILL,  14$ 

go  back  ?    I  can  take  you  home  the  other  way,  you 
know. "  % 

"  No,  no  ;  go  on.  I  shall  get  used  to  it  in  a  mo- 
ment. It  is  only  just  at  first — and  those  seagulls 
flying  out  below  us  make  me' dizzy,  and  the  sea, 
wriggling,  and  like  a  wrinkled  walnut,  such  a  long, 
long  way  below. " 

" Don't  look  straight  down;  look  right  out 
across  the  bay.  There  are  a  dozen  fishing-smacks 
sailing  down,  with  those  tawny  sails  set  which  you 
admire." 

"Oh,  lovely,"  she  said.      "  How  long  is  this—' 
this  New  Cut?" 

He  was  walking  the  horse  very  slowly,  and  the 
cart  was  hugging  the  cliff  side. 

"A  quarter  of  a  mile,"  he  answered.  "If  we 
went  more  quickly,  it  would  sooner  be  over." 

"Yes,  but  I  would  rather  go  slowly,  if  you 
don't  mind." 

"When  we  round  that  corner"  (pointing  to  a 
distant  curve  of  the  cliff  which  concealed  any  fur- 
ther sight  of  the  road)  "  we  soon  turn  inland,  and 
get  into  a  iane  with  twenty  feet  of  solid  bank  on 
either  side." 

"  We  shall  get  there  in  ten  minutes  \ "  interroga- 
tively. 


146  A   MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

"  About  that.  You  are  giddy, "  anxiously.  "I 
am  so  desperately  sorry  that  I  brought  you.  You 
told  me  the  other  day  that  you  could  stand  any 
height,  or  I  should  not  have  thought  of  bringing 
you." 

' c  I'm  getting  better ;  I  didn't  know  I  should  mind. 
It  is  very  stupid  of  me.     I'm  s*o  sorry. " 

She  was  fighting  bravely  against  her  fear,  despis- 
ing her  swimming  head  and  the  sickening  quivers 
of  faintness  that  unstrung  her  muscles. 

"  Will  you  get  out  and  walk  ? " 

This  palliation  of  her  misery  was  forbidden  by 
the  thought  that,  to  allow  of  her  descent  from  the 
cart,  the  horse  would  have  to  step  nearer  to  the 
edge  of  the  cliff,  in  which  case  she  knew  she  should 
scream. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Shall  I  tell  Phil  to  lead  the  mare  ?" 

He  was  much  concerned,  for  she  had  grown 
very  pale,  and  the  smile  she  forced  to  her  lips  was 
piteously  unreal. 

"Yes,  I  should  like  that,"  her  voice  shook. 
"Thank  you." 

But,  as  Phil  alighted  to  obey  this  astonishing  or- 
der, a  sudden  sharp  sound  above  their  heads  startled 
them.    They  looked  up.    Down  the  rugged  face  of 


A  MATTER   OF  SKTLL.  14? 

the  cliff,  hurled  from  crag  to  crag,  whirling  like  a 
gigantic  bird  through  the  air,  a  gray,  struggling 
mass  was  seen  to  descend  until  it  fell,  with  a  dull, 
sickening  thud — such  a  sound  as  haunts  memory  for 
a  lifetime — upon  the  road  in  front  of  the  trembling 
mare.  She  stopped,  backed  a  pace  or  two,  plunging 
and  rearing  in  terror  ;  than,  answering  to  the  voice 
and  hand  of  the  master,  she  dashed  forward.  They 
passed  that  grim  and  shapeless  mass,  lying  motion- 
less and  blood-streaked  on  the  road,  in  safety,  but 
the  wheel  of  the  cart  grated  against  the  wooden  pal- 
ing that  guarded  the  edge  of  the  precipice,  and  shiv- 
ered it  to  splinters.  Then,  at  a  mad  gallop,  the 
mare  raced  on.  The  air  hissed  past  them  ;  the  cart 
rocked  like  a  swing;  the  cliffs  seemed  to  rush  out  to 
meet  them;  startled  seagulls  whirled  around  them; 
below  in  the  yawning  deep  the  sea  reeled. 

Once  Helen  put  out  her  hands  and  caught  at  the 
reins.  With  rough  fury  he  bade  her  keep  still,  and 
she  obeyed. 

Eound  the  perilous  sweep  of  the  cliff  they  tore, 
whirling  again,  so  near  their  death  that  he  set  his 
teeth,  thinking  the  end  had  come.  One  fraction  of 
an  inch  to  the  right  and  nothing  would  save  them, 
but  again  the  frantic  mare  answered  to  his  voice  and 
his  grip  of  the  rein.    She  swerved  ever  so  little  to 


i43    ~  -  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL, 

the  left  and  rushed  safely  by — on,  on,  scudding  like 
a  cloud  before  the  wind— on,  on,  until  sky,  sea, 
clouds,  and  cliffs  mingled  in  one  staggering  pan- 
orama. 

Helen  sat  motionless.  Once,  when  the  thought 
of  her  mother  beset  her,  she  had  clutched  at  the 
reins ;  otherwise  she  had  not  moved,  nor  had  she 
spoken.  Through  her  mind  the  memory  of  heroes 
who  had  faced  death  without  fear  came  and 
strengthened  her.  Though  no  one  should  know  it, 
she  would  not  quail  or  shudder ;  she  would  not  be 
afraid ;  she  would  die  hard.  She  was  one  of  those 
"who  do  not  mind  death,  but  can  not  bear  pinch- 
ing. " 

But  when  the  danger  was  past,  when  the  blessed 
shelter  of  high  banks  rose  on  either  side,  when  the 
mare's  gallop  sank  to  a  canter,  and  from  a  canter  to 
a  trot,  when  they  were  safe  and  the  hideous  sight  of 
sea  and  cliff  was  left  far  behind,  then  came  the 
demon  reaction  to  unnerve  her. 

It  was  a  deep  and  fervent  "  Thank  God  ! "  which 
broke  from  her  companion,  that  loosened  the  flood- 
gates of  her  tears.  Till  then  he  had  not  spoken,  nor 
had  he  looked  at  her ;  but  when  he  turned  and  she 
heard  those  words,  saw  the  expression  in  his  dark 
eyes,  which  met  hers,  she  burst  out  into  weeping. 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL.  149 

She  clung  to  his  arm,  she  buried  her  face  against 
his  shoulder,  she  trembled  and  wrung  her  hands. 
A  long  hill  lay  before  them.  The  mare's  trot  had 
subsided  into  a  quiet  walk.  He  put  his  arm  round 
her,  comforting  her  as  though  she  were  a  frightened 
child. 

''There,  there  ;  it's  all  right — you  are  quite  safe. 
Don't  cry.  You  shall  never  go  near  the  place 
again." 

She  was  so  unstrung  and  beside  herself  that  she 
sobbed  her  heart  out,  as  if  it  were  her  father's  shoul- 
der against  which  she  hid  her  eyes;  she  was  oblivi- 
ous as  to  whose  protecting  arm  supported  her,  or 
whose  hand  patted  her  soothingly,  as  though  she 
was  a  baby  to  be  quieted  by  such  treatment. 

"What  fell  ?— What  was  it  ?— It  was  killed." 
■  "  A  sheep,  poor  brute  \    Don't  talk  of  it.    Think 
of  something  else. " 

"I  can't" — shuddering — "I  daren't  open  my 
eyes  ;  I  am  afraid  I  should  see  it." 

"I  wouldn't  open  them  just  yet.  You  will  be 
all  right  in  a  minute." 

"I  should  not  really  have  touched  the  reins,  I 
only  put  out  my  hand." 

"  It  was  a  case  of  life  or  death.  I  hadn't  time  to 
be  gentle.    I'm  awfully  sorry.   I  deserve  to  be  shot." 


J 50  A  MATTER  OF  SRItt. 

His  encircling  arm  held  her  more  closely  as  he 
spoke,  but  during  the  pause  which  followed,  Helen 
drew  away  from  him,  covering  her  face  with  her 
hands. 

' 'Look  here,  don't  give  up  like  this,"  he  said, 
rather  alarmed.  "  You  have  been  so  plucky  all  the 
time."  The  compliment  was  undeserved,  but  she 
did  not  dislike  it  on  that  account. 

"I  can't  help  it — I  can't  indeed  !  " 

Her  voice  came  thick  and  low,  her  hands  fell 
down  from  before  her  deathly  face  ;  she  tried  to 
smile,  and  then  murmuring,  ' '  I  don't  feel  very 
well,"  she  fell  back  again  upon  his  shoulder.  She 
had  fainted. 

On  the  summit  of  the  hill  which  they  were 
mounting  was  a  country  inn,  thither  Bertie,  sup- 
porting the  girl,  with  a  now  aching  arm,  drove  fast. 
Assisted  by  the  host,  he  lifted  Helen  from  the  cart 
and  carried  her  into  the  house.  In  the  inn-parlor 
stood  that  horse-hair  sofa,  oft  described  because  the 
memory  of  his  discomforts  is  not  easily  obliterated, 
peculiar  to  wayside  hostelries  and  seaside  lodgings ; 
upon  it  Mr.  Jones  laid  his  burden.  He  was  almost 
as  pale  as  she;  he  kept  his  head,  but  he  was  horribly 
frightened ;  he  fully  believed  her  to  be  dead,  and 
would  not  be  reassured  by  the  landlady,  who  told 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL.  151 

him  that  "Her  Mary  Kate  failed  away  a  score  o* 
times  last  summer." 

They  doused  Helen's  pretty  head  with  water  and 
chafed  her  white  hands  ;  they  fanned  her  with  a 
newspaper  and  burned  feathers  and  held  salts  under 
her  nose.  Every  suggestion  which  the  landlady 
made  Bertie  executed  with  feverish  anxiety.  But 
when  at  length  he  poured  tea-spoonful  after  tea- 
spoonful  of  cooking  brandy  between  her  pale  lips,  it 
had  at  last  the  desired  effect ;  she  coughed  once  or 
twice,  turned  her  head  on  the  crochet  antimacassar, 
and  slowly  opened  her  eyes. 


i52  A  MATTER   OF  SKILL, 


CHAPTER  IX. 
"  On  life's  vast  ocean  diversely  we  sail, 
Reason  the  card  and  passion  is  the  gale." 

Pope. 
"  There  be  none  of  beauty's  daughters 
With  a  magic  like  to  thee, 
And  as  music  on  the  waters 
Is  thy  sweet  voice  to  me." 
•  Lord  Byron. 

HELEN  soon  sat  up  and  declared  herself  quite 
well.  She  was  astonished  but  somewhat 
gratified,  to  discover  that  she  had  fainted ;  her  health 
had  hitherto  been  unromantically  robust— a  little 
dehcacy  was  interesting  and  a  novelty.  Besides 
which,  during  the  interval  of  unconsciousness,  the 
agonizing  agitation'  (which  had  thus  culminated) 
had  subsided ;  save  for  some  throbbing  pulses  in  her 
temples,  she  felt  just  as  usual.  Mr.  Jones  was  as 
astonished  as  he  was  relieved  by  her  rapid  recovery, 
and  presently  left  her,  ostensibly  to  see  to  the  mare 
and  to  keep  a  look-out  for  Phil,  for  whose  nerves 
great  concern  was  certainly  due.  A  minute  later, 
Helen,    who    was  looking  out  through  the  open 


A   MATTER   OF  SKILL.  153 

■window,  saw  him  cross  the  road  to  a  gateway, 
where  he  halted,  and  taking  both  a  cigar-case  and  a 
matchbox  from  his  pocket,  proceeded  to  light  a 
cigar,  ther.e  was  no  dearth  of  matches  in  that  box  ; 
he  struck  several  before  he  accomplished  his  object. 
Helen  watched,  her  face  alight  with  a  smile.  To 
please  her  he  had  not  smoked,  and  yet  he  would 
not  let  her  know  that  he  sacrificed  his  pleasure  to 
her  comfort.     How  nice  of  him  ! 

In  a  girl's  vision  a  little  circumstance  may  be 
made  to  do  duty  for  a  great  one ;  it  grows  or  di- 
minishes at  her  will.  Helen  chose  that  this  virtue 
should  grow,  even  as  the  gourd  of  Jonah. 

Fortunately  for  him  she  could  not  guess  that 
when  he  had  screened  his  weak  desire  to  please  her 
with  a  white  he,  it  had  not  been  to  hide  his  merit, 
but  in  practical  view  of  a  possible  future  (a  future 
that  grew  more  possible  each  moment),  she  must 
learn  at  once  that,  but  for  the  lack  of  ingredients, 
he  and  his  cigar  were  inseparable. 

With  hands  thrust  in  the  pockets  of  his  coat  his 
straw  hat  tilted  to  shade  his  eyes  as  he  scanned 
the  road  in  search  of  Phil,  this  martyr  stood  full  in 
her  sight  smoking  like  a  chimney.  She  thought 
him  handsome — and  so  he  was — and  his  good- 
humored  smile  was  pleasant. 


<54  A  MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

Throughout  their  homeward  drive,  his  conduct 
left  nothing  to  be  desired.  He  was  most  tender  of 
her  shaken  nerves — never  before  had  the  dogcart 
been  driven  so  cautiously.  Never  before  had  the  I 
strong  and  surefooted  mare  been  walked  uphill  and 
down  alike  to  save  any  risk  to  her  wind  in  the 
first,  and  any  danger  to  her  knees  in  the  second, 
instance.  Both  horse  and  groom  were  a  little  im- 
patient of  these  precautions  and  anxious  to  get  to 
their  journey's  end,  while  their  master  grudged 
each  flitting  field  as  it  passed,  and  reached  Carna- 
tion Cottage  before  he  had  told  Helen  a  tenth  of 
the  hundred  things  he  had  to  tell  her. 

That  expression  of  successful  assurance  which 
acknowledged  beauty  sometimes  flaunts,  is  not  at- 
tractive ;  it  repels  rather  than  allures.  Helen  w^as 
not  self-conscious,  though  she  was  apt  to  be  aggress- 
ively self-reliant,  but  that  evening  she  was  quiet, 
languid  and  responsive.  Though  she  looked  white,  | 
worn  and  ill,  perfection  of  feature,  such  as  she  i 
owned,  is  not  dependent  on  health  or  coloring  for 
beauty.  Never,  to  her  companion's  mind,  had  she 
looked  one  half  as  lovely,  her  great  eyes  shone  like 
stars  under  the  brim  of  her  white  hat,  her  lips 
curved  with  a  half  smile,  her  hair,  dried  by  the  air, 
curled  on  her  brow.     The  very  existence  of  Lady 


A  Matter  of  skill.  155 

Lucy  Freemantle  faded  from  his  mind.  He  forgot 
that  a  passion  for  an  obscure  young  person  was  a 
passion  to  be  stifled,  not  encouraged.  He  forgot 
everything  but  the  obscure  young  person  herself. 
Once  or  twice  he  forgot  his  adopted  role  of  brother- 
ly friendliness  and  broke  off  011  the  point  of  some 
word  quite  unsuitable  to  the  part.  He  would  have 
welcomed  the  threat,  nay,  even  the  fulfillment,  of  a 
second  calamity  if,  by  such  an  event,  she  would  be 
driven  again — then  and  there — to  his  arms. 

When  the  door  in  the  cob  wall  surrounding  Car- 
nation Cottage  had  closed,  shutting  the  graceful, 
blue-gowned  figure  from  sight,  he  heaved  a  stu- 
pendous sigh,  for  an  eternity  lay  between  him  and 
the  following  morning  when  he  promised  himself 
the  pleasing  duty  of  presenting'*  a  little  enameled 
watch,  set  with  the  initials  H.  M.  in  glittering  brill- 
iants, now  reposing  in  his  pocket,  to  its  delighted 
owner. 

Miss  Mitford,  with  a  watering  pot  in  her  left 
hand  and  a  spud,  which  she  used,  as  old  men  use  an 
index  finger,  to  emphasize  her  words,  in  the  right, 
hovered  round  her  neice  until  bedtime.  Again  and 
again  Helen  had  to  retail  the  account  of  their  es- 
cape, though  the  horror  of  the  time  half  returned  as 
she  painted  it  in  words,  and  she  would  gladly  have 


i$6  A  MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

turned  her  thoughts  elsewhere.  Miss  Mitford  was 
sorry  for  Helen,  but  she  not  unjustly  singled  out 
the  sheep  as  the  nucleus  of  her  interest  and 
sympathy.  She  wondered  to  whom  it  belonged, 
|  whether  it  was  a  valuable  animal,  why  Providence 
had  not  bestowed  upon  it  a  greater  penetration. 

"  The  want  of  sagacity  in  sheep  is  remarkable, 
love.  Instead  of  avoiding  their  natural  enemy,  the 
dog,  they  approach  him,  though  they  possess  no 
weapon  of  defense.  They  continually  walk  over 
the  edge  of  the  cliffs,  following  the  gulls,  I  presume, 
dear,  and  forgetting  their  lack  of  wings.  As  a  term 
of  opprobrium  for  the  dull  I  should  prefer  '  sheep'  to 
'ass'  as  less  coarse  and  more  appropriate." 

Helen  refused  the  mutton  chop  and  custard  pud- 
ding proffered  her  but  she  made  great  havoc  with 
a  dish  of  strawberries  and  cream,  and  her  spirits  did 

not  flag.      She  never  discovered  that  she  was  over- 
) 
j  tired  until  she  went  to  bed,  and  then  she  found  that 

I  the  events  of  the  day  had  impressed  themselves 
vividly  and  deeply  upon  her  brain. 

Hitherto  as  soon  as  she  had  lain  her  nut-brown 
head  on  the  pillow,  she  had  fallen  asleep  ;  but  that 
night  she  could  find  no  comfort  among  the  laven- 
der-scented pillows ;  she  tossed  and  turned  for 
hours.    Her  thoughts  would  allow  her  no  rest,  they 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL.  itf\ 

flew  tumultuously  back  to  that  "New  Cut"  and 
dragged  her  again  and  again  through  every  occur- 
rence of  that  homeward  drive. 

Ten  days  after  the  River  Meet  picnic  the  two  I 
Misses  Jones  might  have  been  seen  pacing  up  and \ 
down  the  corridor  at  Newton  Hall  in  grave  and 
low-toned  conversation.  The  subject  under  discus- 
sion was  of  such  importance  as  to  lower  their  high- 
pitched  voices  and  banish  their  eternal  smiles. 
Patricia's  temper  was  ruffled,  her  forehead  was 
puckered,  her  eyes,  blank  and  sombre  as  holes 
burned  in  a  blanket,  were  dark  with  gloom.  She 
took  the  lead  in  the  debate.  Anastasia  listened ; 
though  her  engagement  to  Major  Mason — that  gen- 
tleman by  whose  side  she  had  been  seated  during 
the  drive  to  the  picnic  and  the  man  of  her  choice — 
had  been  that  day  announced  and  she  had  every 
reason  consequently  to  be  gay,  she  too,  was  pro- 
foundly solemn. 

"  He  is  so  obstinate,"  the  elder  Miss  Jones  was 
saying,  "you  ought  to  know  what  he  is;  if  I  was  to 
hint  that  we  were  nervous,  he  would  probably  decide 
it  at  once  and  the  wrong  way.  Just  to  show  his  in- 
dependence, he  w  M  do  it.  He  is  quite  infatuated, 
he  hangs  about  tL  \  ~'ch  or  the  village  half  the 
day.    Yesterday  iu  t.        roiling  sun  he  toiled  up 


158  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

with  a  pot  of  orchids  to  that  little  earwiggy  place. 
I  believe  he  has  been  there  on  some  excuse  or  other 
every  afternoon  this  week.  He  went  to  church 
twice  on  Sunday,  and  walked  back  with  her  after 
the  service  carrying  that  ridiculous  old  Aunt's  spec- 
tacle case.     I  saw  him." 

" Bertie  has  generally  got  some  one  on  hand," 
said  the  other.  "Lucy  is  not  here,  you  see,  Pat.  ; 
there  is  no  one  in  the  house  he  cares  about,  it's  so 
dull  down  by  the  sea  in  the  summer  without  some- 
body to  amuse  one.  Next  week  he  is  going  to 
Paxf ord.  He  will  forget  this  girl  and  settle  it  with 
Lucy." 

"  He  will  get  entangled  first,"  said  Patricia,  trag- 
ically. "He  is  over  head  and  ears  in  love;  don't 
you  see  him  meandering  about  with  his  head  on  one 
side  and  Shelley  under  his  arm  ?" 

"She  is  a  good-looking  girl,  Pat.,  and  she's  all 
right,  you  know.  Gussie  knows  some  of  her  people 
in  Lincolnshire.  If  Bertie  likes  her,  I  don't  really 
see—" 

At  these  words  Patricia  stamped  angrily  upon 
the  ground.  Her  stamp  was  formidable,  for  her 
foot  was  not  light. 

"You  don't  care  for  anything  on  earth  but 
yourself,  Anastasia,    You  are  the  most  selfish,  self- 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL.  159 

absorbed  little  pig  !  It  is  nothing  to  you  what 
becomes  of  me.  You  have  got  Gussie  now — and 
a  precious  long  time  you  have  taken  about  it ! — so 
you  are  content.  How  much  longer  am  I  to  wait  1 
Sir  Edwin  has  been  here  a  fortnight,  and  I  can't  do 
anything  with  him.  I  know  he's  shy  of — well,  of 
our  relations — I  see  it ;  but  if  we  were  only  con- 
nected with  the  Paxford  people  he  would  swallow 
anything — even  poor  old  grandfather." 

Anastasia  was  rather  irritated  by  this  attack. 

"Good  gracious,  what  am  I  to  do,  Pat.?  If 
Bertie  means  to  marry  her,  who  is  to  prevent  him  ? 
Unfortunately,  you  can't  lock  up  a  marriageable 
young  man,  and  only  let  him  loose  when  the  right 
person  is  about.  Let  the  poor  fellow  amuse  him- 
self ;  he  means  to  marry  Lucy — Gussie  says  so. 
If  we  interfere  it  would  be  fatal ;  he  won't  stand 
advice." 

"I  wouldn't  interfere  with  him,  but  I  should 
like  to  give  the  girl  a  hint.  She  is  very  proud. 
I  am  sure  she  would  take  the  slightest  hint  at 
once." 

Anastasia  paced  on  in  silence.  As  long  as  she 
was  allowed  to  remain  neutral,  she  did  not  mind 
what  happened  ;  she  had  few  objects  in  life  beyond 
the  attainment  of  her  own  desires.      She  wanted 


160  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

]ier  brother  to  marry  Lacly  Lucy,  certainly  -not  for 
his  happiness,  but  because  a  Lady  Lucy  for  a  sister- 
in-law  was  a  solid  advantage  for  herself. 

"I  don't    know  that.      Bertie's  a  tremendous 
catch.     A  cart-load  of  hints  wouldn't  put  a  sensible  \ 
woman  off  twenty  thousand  a  year. " 
"  I  shall  tell  her  he  is  engaged  to  Lucy." 
"She  will  congratula       ;m,  and  you  will  catch  it." 
"I  shan't — Bertie  is  .       t  rude.     If  I  make  a 
breach,  they  won't  have  th  v  &  patch  it  up  in  these 
three  days.      Once  get  him  off  without  a  fiasco,  he 
will  forget  her,  and  be  thankful  to  me  for  keeping 
him  out  of  it." 

Anastasia  was  getting  a  little  bored,  and  would 
be  glad  to  settle  the  matter  any  way,  so  that  she 
might  return  to  the  garden  and  her  lover  ;  but,  in 
case  of  possible  contingencies,  she  thought  it  ex- 
pedient to  warn  her  sister  and  demonstrate  her 
wisdom.  s 

"Well,  Pat.,  do  what  you  think  is  right,  if  yon! 
don't  mind  risking  a  row,  Bertie  mayn't  jump 
down  your  throat,  but  I've  seen  him  angry  once  or 
twice  in  my  life.  Interfering  with  a  love  affair  is 
like  interfering  in  a  dog-fight — you  don't  get  thanks 
from  either  side ;  you'll  be  lucky  if  you  don't  get 
bitten." 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL.  i6t 

"She  is  always  about  the  beach  in  the  after- 
noon," said  Patricia,  "I  shall  go  down  and  ask 
her  to  come  for  a  row.  There  wilf  be  plenty  of  time 
then  to  lead  up  naturally  to  the  subject.  I  can  say  , 
a  good  many  things*  to  open  her  eyes,  and  she  will 
never  guess  I  meant  anything." 

When  the  sisters  met  before  dinner,  and  Pa- 
tricia was  questioned  about  the  success  of  the  strate- 
gem  she  confessed  herself  baffled.  She  was  afraid 
Miss  Mitford  did  not  intend  to  take  any  hint,  and 
Patricia's  invitation  she  had  refused. 

"She  would  hardly  speak  to  me,"  that  young 
lady  complained  ;  "  but  I  managed  to  say  how  good 
it  was  of  her  to  console  my  brother.       'Don't  over- 
console  him,  Miss  Mitford,' I  said,  'or  Lady  Lucy 
Freemantle  won't  quite  like  it  yo,u  know.'    She's  a 
collected  sort  of  girl.     She  looked  at  me  as  if  she 
had  not  heard  what  I  said,  then  she  made  some 
irrelevant  remark  about  the  weather,  and  went  off  ( 
to  play  with  a  little  child  whom  she  held  by  the  [ 
hand.     I  can't  think  what  Bertie  sees  in  her  ;  she 
is  positively  forbidding.      But  perhaps,  for  all  her 
calmness,  she  heard  me  right  enough,  and  if  so,  I 
did  not  toil  over  that  awful  shingle  for  nothing 
She  is  the  sort  of  woman  who  prefers  dignity  to 
common  sense — the  very  person  who  would  fling  a 


x6a  A   MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

fortune  into  the  sea  rather  than  cross  a  gutter  to 
getit." 

"  She's  as  poor  as  a  church  mouse,"  said  Anas- 
tasia,  "and  she  wears  such  boots!  I  wonder 
Bertie,  who  is  fastidious,  can  stand  them.  Patricia, 
if  you  want  v  ^se-his-name  to  adore  you,  don't 
wear  your  pop,..,  -  *  Tn.  It  doesn't  suit  you — 
it  matches  your  cheeks.  9 

Meanwhile,  up  on  the  hill  at  Carnation  Cottage, 
poor  Miss  Mitford  was  overpowered  by  the  exuber- 
ance of  Helen's  mirth.  She  had  returned  from  the 
shore  in  fantastic  and  exultant  spirits.  She  laughed 
and  sang  and  joked  until  Miss  Mitford  sat  down 
exhausted  on  the  garden  seat  with  the  tears  of 
laughter  rolling  down  her  cheeks,  and  a  faint 
petition  to  the  girl  u  to  be  quiet  and  go  away,  for 
pity's  sake  !"  breaking  between  her  gasps. 

But  Helen  was  gone  out  of  earshot,  and  had 
entered  the  porch  before  her  aunt  had  finished  her 
sentence  or  her  laughter. 

That  wonderful  vivacity  of  hers  lasted  through- 
out the  evening,  and  reappeared  with  her  at  break- 
fast next  morning.  If  she  was  not  very  hungry, 
she  was  so  talkative  that  her  want  of  appetite 
passed  unnoticed.  Throughout  the  morning  she 
helped  her  aunt  to  stick  the  verbenas  and  prick 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL.  163 

out  the  seedling  gloxinias.  It  was  tiring  work; 
by  lunch-time  Helen  was  looking  fagged,  and  Miss 
Mitford  was  full  of  self-reproaches  when  she  saw 
that  it  was  so. 
1  "You  shall  rest  this  afternoon,  my  love.  You 
can  he  on  the  sofa  and  read  that  charming  book 
by  Miss  Gwynne-Hughes.  You  will  be  sure  to 
sleep.  I  am  going  to  call  at  the  Priory — I  have 
ordered  a  fly  for  the  purpose — but  you  need  not 
accompany  me,  though,  to  be  sure,  I  should  have 
liked  your  society." 

"  I  will  come,"  said  Helen. 

But  by  the  time  the  fly  had  arrived  she  had 
changed  her  mind.  She  was  certainly  a  little  tired; 
she  would  take  her  aunt's  advice  and  rest. 

The  resting  was  of  an  odd  kind  ;  it  drove  her 
again  and  again  to  the  glass,  before  which  she 
arranged  her  hair  and  prinked  with  deliberation 
and  anxiety.  It  sent  her  into  the  garden  to  gather 
more  flowers  to  adorn  the  drawing-room,  which  was 
already  a  perfect  flower-garden  itself ;  it  compelled 
her  to  mount  to  her  bed- room  and  hastily  don  a 
certain  pink  cotton  dress  which  she  had  heard  ad- 
mired not  many  days  previously.  Again  it  drove 
her  back  to  the  drawing-room,  whither  she  wan- 
dered to  and  fro  until  the  tinkle  of  the  gate  bell, 


1 64  A   MATTEL   OF  SKILL. 

reaching  her  listening  ears,  seemed  to  remind  her 
of  her  fatigue ;  for  she  sank  down  into  an  arm- 
chair, took  up  a  book,  and  was  at  once  engrossed  in 
its  perusal.  She  did  not  notice  a  shadow  pass  the 
window,  nor  when  the  door  was  opened,  did  she 
immediately  look  up  ;  but  as  Sarah  announced — 
"Mr.  Flight,  if  you  please,  miss,"  she  started,  the 
book  fell  to  the  floor,  and  in  that  full,  clear  voice, 
for  the  tones  of  which  this  poor  unwelcome  visitor 
had  yearned  to  hear  again,  she  exclaimed — 

"Oh,  it  is  you?" 

Though  this  greeting  was  not  reassuring,  it  had 
been  wrung  from  Helen's  astonishment  and  the 
next  moment  she  had  risen  with  outstretched  friend- 
ly hand  to  meet  him.  In  a  moment  he  saw  that 
she  had  changed.  Hope  whispered  that  the  change 
was  to  his  advantage.  Her  manner  had  altered  ; 
the  coquettish  defiance,  varied  with  cold  disdain, 
with  which  she  had  formerly  met  his  advances  had  i 
gone— a  stereotyped  politeness  had  usurped  its  I 
place. 

Born  and  bred  in  woman,  is  the  art  of  fence. 
Never  did  swallow  swoop  more  lightly,  more  swift- 
ly, more  restlessly  after  his  evening  meal  than 
Helen  flew  from  subject  to  subject.  Her  ease, 
her  frank  friendliness,  and  her  command  of  topic, 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL.  165 

voice,  and  smile  might  have  answered  Mr.  Flight's 
question  better  than  any  word,  if  he  would  have 
been  content  to  read  those  lucid  signs  and  thus  have 
saved  them  both  unnecessary  pain. 

At  first  the  sound  of  her  voice  and  the  sight  of 
her  beauty  was  bliss  sufficient,  but  soon  he  grew 
impatient  of  the  chit-chat  in  which  he  was  taking  a 
secondary  part.  He  made  several  unsuccessful 
efforts  to  change  the  subject,  and  then,  remember- 
ing that  Dr.  Abercrombie  remarks  that  no  woman 
can  talk  for  more  than  twenty  minutes  without 
cessation,  he  obstinately  held  his  peace  and  waited 
for  the  inevitable,  pause.  It  came,  he  seized  his 
opportunity  and  hurled  his  declaration  into  the 
interval. 

It  was  the  old,  old  story.  What  a  remarkably 
dull,  tiresome,  threadbare  old  tale  it  is  when  told  by 
the  wrong  person — and  the  wrong  person  somehow 
•  seems  conscious  of  the  failure  and  bungles  over  its 
recital,  emphasizes  the  wrong  points,  and  hashes 
the  whole  thing  !  If  he  who  is  right  is  not  exactly 
eloquent,  he  need  say  so  little,  and  brevity  is  the 
soul  of  wit. 

When  she  found  that  it  was  impossible  to  avert 
a  scene,  Helen  cast  her  eyes  on  the  ground  and  list- 
ened patiently  and  silently  to  what  he  told  her.    She 


166  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

sat  in  a  low  arm-chair,  face  to  the  light.  Mr.  Flight 
tried  to  read  his  fate  in  her  downcast  face  ;  how  it 
had  altered — not  a  touch  of  the  disdain  he  dreaded, 
no  mocking  curve  of  lip,  but  a  steady,  thoughtful 
brow,  a  woman's  gentleness  softening  each  line. 

A  woman,  conscious  of  her  weakness,  sides,  I 
think,  almost  without  exception,  with  the  weak. 
Her  sympathies  are  for  the  unsuccessful ;  her  ten- 
derness for  the  feeble  who  fails.  Her  love  may  go 
elsewhere,  but  her  love  is  her  fate,  and  with  the  di- 
rection of  its  flight  she  has  little  to  do.  Helen's 
awakened  heart  ached  for  the  speaker,  though  it 
beat  no  whit  the  faster  for  his  words.  But  to  those 
who  ask  for  love,  compassion  is  no  boon. 

When,  with  a  faltering  voice,  Helen  declared 
that  she  could  never,  never,  never  be  his  wife,  that 
neither  long  years,  nor  his  devotion,  nor  his  pros- 
pects, nor  the  wishes  of  her  parents,  nor  her  pov- 
erty, nor  his  unhappiness  could  ever,  by  any  possible 
chance,  alter  one  jot  or  tittle  of  her  determination, 
it  mattered  very  little  to  him  whether  she  pitied  or 
hated  him.  Though  with  her  eyes  brimming  with 
tears  she  gave  him  both  her  hands,  and  never  drew 
them  away  when  his  grasp  crushed  her  slight  fin- 
gers; though  she  did' not  reprove  him  when  he  laid 
his  lips  on  them;  yet,  passion- blinded  as  he  was,  he 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL,  167 

could  not  deduct  any  sign  of  relenting  from  her 
attitude. 

She  who,  even  under  the  suspicion  of  reproof, 
had  flared  into  hot  anger  and  retort,  now  hung  herj. 
head  when  his  misery  wrung  forth  some  bitter  re-( 
proaches  from  him,  and  murmured,  humbly — 

"  I  know,  I  know  ;  I  am  so  sorry  ;  but  I  didn't 
believe — I  didn't  understand.     Forgive  me." 

He  found  it  difficult  to  credit  that  such  true, 
deep,  absorbing  love  as  he  felt  could  meet  with  no 
return — that  it  had  been  born  only  to  die  ;  he  felt 
that  he  was  hardly  treated,  and  so  he  was.  But  life 
is  hard,  and  things  go  wrong  with  us  more  often 
than  they  go  right ;  into  each  life  the  rain  falls 
heavily,  and  if  we  do  not  happen  to  see  our  neigh- 
bor drenched  to  the  skin,  we  may  rest  assured  that 
he  has  not  escaped  his  share  of  ducking,  although 
he  may  be  dry  and  trim  enough  when  we  chance  to 
meet  him. 

It  was  bad  luck  that  induced  Miss  Mitford's 
front  gate  bell  to  give  so  soft  a  tinkle  that  the 
sound  escaped  Helen's  sharp  hearing ;  it  was  bad 
luck  which  caused  her  to  stand  in  full  sight  of  the 
open  window  when  Mr.  Flight  held  both  her  hands 
in  his  and  stooped  to  kiss  them  ;  it  was  an  unlucky 
impulse  that  made  her  wrench  away  those  hands 


16$  A   MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

and  dart  guiltily  a  yard  or  two  asunder  from  the 
young  man  when  the  drawing-room  door  was 
opened  and  "  Mr.  Jones  "  was  announced. 

If  the  visitor  felt  surprise  or  annoyance  at  the 
tableau  presented  to  him,  his  manner  did  not  betray 
him.  His  self-possession  was  admirable  ;  he  even 
covered  Helen's  confusion  and  Mr.  Flight's  awk- 
ward preoccupation  by  a  flow  of  conversation,  and 
when  the  latter  took  his  leave,  and  the  lady  accom  ■ 
parried  him,  in  answer  to  his  earnest  petition,  to  the 
front  gate,  he  concealed  a  most  rancorous  irritability 
under  a  suave  smile. 


a  Matter  ob  skill.  169 


1  CHAPTER  X. 

"  The  best  laid  schemes  of  mice  and  men 
Gang  aft  a-gley ; 
And  leave  us  nought  but  grief  and  pain 
For  promised  joy."  Bukns. 

TJELEN  seemed  reluctant  to  part  with  Mr.  Flight. 
1  *  Her  strenuous  endeavors  to  prolong  their  fare- 
well at  the  garden  gate  met  with  no  success.  It  was 
unreasonable  of  her  to  blame  him  on  that  account. 
He  saw  no  necessity  of  answering  her  quick  ques- 
tions on  irrelevant  subjects  ;  he  could  find  no  small 
talk  with  which  to  respond  to  her  many  remarks. 
But  just  at  the  last  he  stammered  out  that  "he  un- 
derstood," "he  knew,"  "he  hoped  she  would  be 
J  happy,"  "he  hoped  that  he  loved  her  as  she  should 
be  loved."  And  then,  refusing  to  enlighten  her  in 
reply  to  her  quick  question  as  to  what  he  meant, 
and  shaking  his  head  sadly  at  her  hot  denial  of  the 
imputation — whatever  it  might  signify — he  turned 
abruptly  away,  and  left  her. 
It  was  no  wonder  that  she  looked  pale  as  she  re- 


270  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL, 

traced  her  steps  to  the  house,  for  the  blazing  sun 
streamed  down  on  her  bare  head.  As  she  passed 
the  sweet-brier  tree  she  paused  to  gather  a  spray  on 
which  one  of  the  fragile  blossoms  bloomed,  but 
as  she  picked  it  the  petals  fell  off  one  by  one  to  the 
ground,  and  the  resisting  thorns  tore  her  fingers. 
The  crushed  leaves  left  their  scent  upon  her  hands, 
for  she  held  them  in  a  vise  as  she  re-entered  the 
drawing-room. 

Mr.  Jones  was  standing  by  the  window  when 
she  came  in.  She  looked  at  him  gravely.  She  had 
cause  for  gravity ;  the  change  in  his  mien  frightened 
her.  She  hardened  her  heart  and  sent  her  thoughts 
coursing  back  to  past  events,  by  the  memory  of 
which  she  could  brace  her  determination.  He  re- 
turned her  glance  ;  his  eyes  were  grave  and  stead- 
fast ;  his  attitude  was  alert  ;  his  careless  good  hu- 
mored smile  was  gone. 

The  fact  was  that,  for  once  in  his  life,  his  emo- 
tions were  stronger  than  his  will.  He  had  at  the 
Rivers  Meet  picnic  made  up  his  mind  that  Helen 
should  be  his  wife.  Systematically  and  deliberately 
he  had  set  himself  to  win  her  love.  If  the  task  had 
not  been  easy,  it  was  none  the  less  to  his  taste  on 
that  account ;  neither  was  the  result  less  likely  to 
please  him.     She  had,  against  his  better  judgment, 


.     A  MATTER  OF  S£fZL.  171 

subjugated  him;  he,  recognizing  her  disadvantages, 
overlooked  them. 

Until  this  moment  he  had  been  in  no  hurry  ;  he 
would  not  precipitate  matters  ;  on  the  contrary,  he 
would  prolong  his  wooing  until  her  feelings  fully 
reciprocated,  if  they  did  not  exceed,  his  own  ;  that 
would  be  his  revenge  for  her  obdura^'  . 

He  had  promised  himself  a  deli^.  u  "ul  time,  he 
had  laid  a  capital  plan,  but 

"  The  best  laid  schemes  of  mice  and  xnen, 
Gang  aft  a-gley." 

The  advent  of  this  rival  was  unlooked  for  ;  it  up- 
set his  calculations  and  his  self-control;  it  maddened 
him. 

He  would  not  beat  about  the  bush,  he  would  go 
straight  to  the  root  of  the  matter.  He  would  not 
have  any  nonsense,  he  told  himself,  angrily,  before 
she  returned.  But  when  he  saw  her,  looking,  in 
her  faded  pink  gown,  as  fair  and  delicate  as  one  of  I 
those  sea  convolvulus  that  grew  intertwined  with 
thrift  and  sea-lavender  on  the  cliffs,  and  a  bunch  of 
which  he  had  gathered  for  her  only  the  night  be- 
fore, he  felt,  with  a  sudden  qualm  of  heart,  what  it 
would  be  to  lose  her,  and  he  softened  his  words. 

" 1  hope  I  did  not  send  your  friend  away  ? " 


172  A   MA  TIER   OF  SKILL. 

"He  was  just  going  when  you  came." 

"  Is  he  staying  in  the  place  ? " 

"I  don't  think  so." 

"Came  over  from  Ilfracombe,  perhaps ?" 

"No." 

"Is  he  an  old  friend?" 

"I  have  known  him  for  six  months." 

Her  way  of  answering  him  displeased  and  sur- 
prised him— it  was  reluctant  and  constrained,  it  was, 
oh,  disquieting  thought !  as  though  she  had  some- 
thing she  wished  to  hide  from  him;  this  hypothesis 
was  unbearable,  and  should  be  dismissed  at  any  cost. 

"Are  you  going  to  marry  him  ? " 

There  was  a  pause.  A  pause  so  long  as  to  be 
alarming,  then  she  answered — 

"No,"  in  defiant  and  distinctly  unfriendly  tones. 
He  was  annoyed,  but  not  to  be  deterred  from  gain- 
ing his  point  by  her  mai_ner. 

"You  don't  think  I  have  any  right  to  ask  you 
that  question  ?"  he  said. 

"  Any  one  has  a  right  to  ask  any  question,  I  sup- 
pose ;  but  it  is  always  unpleasant  to  be  catechised." 

"When  I  found  that  parson  alone  with  you,  and 
— and — ahem — holding  your  hands,  what  was  I  to 
believe  ? " 

Every  atom  of  color  had  forsaken  her  face  and  lips, 


A   MA  TIER   OF  SKILL,  173 

it  returned  in  a  flood,  her  eyes  blazed,  her  lips  were 
compressed. 

' '  Don't  be  angry.  I  only  wanted  to  make  sure  ; 
for  a  moment,  I  was  afraid.  I  knew  you  would 
have  told  me  long  ago  if  you  had  been  engaged.  I 
was  a  fool  to  doubt  you.  I  understand  :  if  I  hadn't 
been  a  bit  annoyed  I  should  have  seen  the  whole 
thing  at  once." 

Mr.  Jones  was  taking  a  great  deal  for  granted. 
If  Helen  was  ever  to  quarrel  with  him  it  would  be 
easiest  to  do  so  when  he  plumed  himself  on  his 
security  and  his  rival's  defeat.  A  man's  vanity  is 
coarse  and  unattractive,  no  matter  with  what  justice 
it  is  owned. 

"  What  would  you  have  seen  ? "  she  inquired. 

"That  the  parson  was  to  be  pitied — not  killed." 

"  Your  insight  might  have  misled  you." 

Now  feminine  weapons  of  warfare  may  serve 
their  purpose  in  an  Amazonian  battle,  but  used 
against  most  men,  and  particularly  against  such  a 
man  as  Mr.  Jones,  they  are  quite  harmless ;  he  was 
a  frank  opponent,  he  hit  straight  from  the  shoulder, 
or  he  did  not  hit  at  all. 

"Now,  look  here,"  he  said,  going  a  step  nearer, 
she  was  standing  by  the  piano  back  to  the  light, 
"  do  you  think  that  if  I  had  come  in  as  I  did— 


174  A   MATT££   OF  SKILL. 

through  no  fault  of  mine — and  seen  that  poor  chap 
making  love  to  you,  and  hadn't  asked  you  what  it 
meant  but  had  taken  it  for  granted  that  it  was  your 
4  usual  custom  of  an  afternoon,'  that  that  would 
have  pleased  you  ? " 

"It  would  have  been  less  eccentric ;  but  perhaps 
I  ought  to  be  grateful  for  the  interest  you  take  in 
my  affairs." 

In  speaking,  her  voice  broke,  the  sprig  of  sweet- 
brier  which  she  held  was  trembling,  and  he  saw  it. 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry,  Helen,"  he  said,  gently.  "  I 
beg  your  pardon.  I  had  no  right  to  bother  you,  but 
upon  my  honor  I  couldn't  help  it,  I  was  so  angry." 

He  had  hardly  heard  what  she  said,  her  changing 
color,  her  evident  distress,  he  attributed  to  the  scene 
through  which  she  had  lately  passed.  It  seemed 
cruel  to  increase  her  agitation  himself,  but  he  had 
gone  so  far  that  he  could  not  draw  back.  He  must 
secure  his  troubled  angel  at  once  and  soothe  her 
into  perfect  happiness  ;  he  could  not  bear  to  see 
her  frown,  he  could  not  bear  to  think  that  he  had 
wounded  her.  He  guessed  his  angel  had  a  temper, 
but  of  that  he  was  not  afraid ;  a  temper  in  prospect- 
ive is  sometimes  considered  one  of  the  rather  inter- 
esting vices,  but  like  the  rest  of  such  failings,  loses 
its  allurements  at  close  quarters. 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL,  175 

He  stood  in  silence  and  watched  her,  he  was 
thinking  how  fair  and  stately  a  wife  she  would  be  ; 
he  postponed  for  one  moment  the  words  which 
\  should  bring  her  to  his  arms.  During  that  moment 
she  recovered  herself ;  with  a  sudden  and  yet  un* 
hurried  movement  she  seated  herself  on  the  window 
seat ;  a  table  of  some  dimensions  now  intervened 
between  herself  and  him. 

"  We  are  making  a  very  great  mountain  out  of 
nothing,  Mr.  Jones,"  she  said,  lightly,  uin  your 
agitation  you  even  forget  my  name.  Would  you 
mind  opening  the  door  ?  The  heat  in  here  is  hor- 
rible, and  a  draught  will  blow  away  the  scent  of 
the  flowers,  they  are  so  overpowering,  they  make 
one  breathless." 

He  did  not  open  the  door,  nor  did  he  answer, 
She  did  not  look  at  him  but  she  was  conscious  of 
his  steady  gaze.  She  could  bear  anything  just  then 
rather  than  silence. 

"  We  will  go  out,"  she  went  on  quickly,  "it  is 
cooler  in  the  garden.  I  must  fetch  my  hat  and 
order  tea.    We  will  have  tea  under  the  trees." 

She  was  passing  him  on  her  way  to  escape 
through  the  door — how  clever  was  her  ruse  to  get 
away — her  hand  was  close  to  the  handle  when  he 
stepped  forward  and  barred  her  progress. 


i?6  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL 

"One  moment, "  he  said,  "I  want  to  speak  to 
you." 

"Not  now," — there  was  a  wild  petition  in  her 
voice  which  startled  him— "  wait— presently— noi  I 
now." 

"  It  is  all  right,  darling.  I  don't  want  to  frighten 
you,  but  the  truth  is  I  can't  get  through  an  hour 
without  you.  When  I  am  not  with  you,  I  think  of 
you.  I  dream  of  you  every  night.  I  want  you  to 
marry  me,  Helen." 

He  paused.  She  was  confounded  at  this  honor 
which  he  had  thrust  upon  her,  the  lashes  concealed 
her  eyes  ;  she  did  not  move  nor  answer. 

"I'm  so  awfully  fond  of  you,  dear!  that  very 
first  day  in  the  train  I  liked  you.  You  are  such  a 
splendid  girl,  Helen  ;  you  are  so  pretty,  and  you  are 
such  good  company ;  you  are  different  from  the 
others.  I  never  knew  that  I  could  be  such  a  fool 
about  a  woman.  I  will  marry  you,  no  one  but  you. 
After  all,  love  is  the  thing  for  which  to  marry. 
Darling,"  with  a  soft  contented  smile  and  extended 
hand,  "if  you  won't  marry  me,  if  you  chuck  me 
over,  I  shall  go  and  drown  myself,  or — " 

4 'Or  marry  some  one  else,"  returned  his  "dar- 
ling;" who  spoke  quite  collectedly.  "I  advise  the 
latter  course  as  it  might  not  entail  such  notoriety." 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL.  177 

"  Helen,"  still  smiling,  "  you  hard-hearted  lit- 
tle—" 

"My  name  is  Miss  Mitford;"  interrupted  she; 
"  perhaps  you  will  be  good  enough  not  to  call  me  by  ' 
any  other."  I 

"My  dearest  girl,  don't  chaff,  I  want  my  answer, 
I  am  in  red-hot  earnest." 

"So  am  I." 

"When  will  you  marry  me  ?" 

"Never." 

Mr.  Jones's  smile  faded.  "  Look  here,  Helen,  I 
am  in  deadly  seriousness.  I  tell  you  that  I  am  most 
awfully  fond  of  you.  I  can't  put  it  strong  enough. 
I  love  you  with  all  my  soul,  I  swear  I  do.  Will 
you  marry  me  V9 

"No/'  in  a  low,  firm  voice,  "I  will  not  marry 
you. " 

"You  don't  mean  that  ?" 

"I  do."  j 

That  is  all  your  answer  f  I 


"You  have  nothing  more  to  say  to  me  V9 
"Nothing." 

He  was  stunned.      It  was  not  her  words  alone, 
but  her  hard,  set  face  that  confounded  him. 
"Is  there  some  one  else,  Helen  V9 


178  A  MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

"No." 

"You — you  are  not,"  unsteadily,  "in  love  with 
some  other  fellow  ?" 

"No." 

He  caught  her  by  the  wrist,  pulled  her  into  the 
full  light  of  the  open  window,  and  stared  into  her 
white  face. 

"  I  could  have  sworn  you  liked  me,"  he  said,  "as 
no  doubt  that  other  poor  chap  who  was  here  this 
afternoon  could  have  done.  I  suppose  this  sort  of 
thing  diverts  you;  it's  a  variety  entertainment — one 
poor  devil  after  another  dancing  to  your  pipe.  I'm 
afraid  I  don't  understand  women  ;  for  on  my  life,  I 
don't  know  what  kind  of  gratification  they  get  out 
of  this  form  of  amusement.  I  never  guessed  you 
were  making  a  fool  of  me,  Helen.  I  wouldn't  have 
believed  it,  I  swear,  I  wouldn't,  unless  I'd  heard  it 
myself,  and  seen  the  parson's  face  just  now." 

Her  face  did  not  express  much  amusement  cer- 
tainly, but  she  tried  to  back  away  from  him  into  the 
shadow  of  the  curtain,  and  he  let  her  go  with  an 
impatient  sigh.  At  this  juncture,  for  the  third  time 
the  gate  bell  tinkled  its  warning  of  an  arrival,  and 
Miss  Elizabeth  Mitford  crossed  the  grass  plot.  She 
caught  sight  of  the  young  man's  face  at  the  draw- 
ing-room window,  and  immediately  approached  him. 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL.  179 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Jones?  I  knew  you 
were  here,  your  cart  is  outside.  How  is  dear 
Helen?" 

"She  is  here  to  answer  for  herself." 

"lam  quite  well,  auntie." 

"  I  left  her  lying  down,  Mr.  Jones,  I  told  her 
to  rest;  she  was  tired  out,  and  it  is  such  a  hot  day. 
Keally,"  peering  at  her,  "she  looks  terribly  pale. 
Come  out  into  the  air,  love  ;  come  out  both  of  you, 
and  we  will  have  tea  under  the  tulip  tree.  I  will 
tell  Betsey  to  bring  it  at  once."  And  she  bustled 
off. 

"Helen,  I  am  going.  I  believe  I  was  rude  just 
now.  I  hardly  knew  what  I  said;  I  was  cut  up, 
don't  you  know.  I  suppose  it  isn't  your  fault  that 
you  don't  fancy  me ;  upon  my  word,  I  don't  know 
what  you  should  see  in  me  after  all.  It  is  rough 
luck  though,  I  shall  never  see  your  face,  nor  hear 
your  voice  again.  I  have  been  thinking  we  should 
spend  our  whole  lives  together.  That  thought  had 
taken  root  deep  ;  how  am  I  to  get  rid  of  it  ? " 

Those  were  his  last  words.  Before  Helen  had 
time  to  think  what  they  meant  he  had  gone  ;  she 
heard  him  talking  to  Miss  Mitford  in  the  garden, 
then  she  heard  his  quick  step  on  the  gravel,  then 
the  click  of  the  gate  and  the  rumble  of  wheels, 


i8o  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

loud  at  first,  but  soon  lessening  until  they  died  into 
silence. 

Yes,  he  had  gone,  but  he  would  come  back  ;  he 
had  said  he  could  not  live  without  her.  Surely, 
surely,  surely  he  would  try  again.  What  had  she 
said  ?  Her  wretched  pride,  her  suicidal  vanity  had 
made  her  wound  him.  He  must  know,  he  must 
guess  that  she  was  only  a  woman  after  all,  and 
therefore  to  be  won.  The  remembrance  of  Lady 
Lucy  Freemantle  ran  a  leaden  thought  through  her 
brain. 

The  recollection  of  Miss  Jones's  "hint,"  her 
overbearing  manner,  the  sins  (of  ommission)  of  the 
Jones's  progenitors,  all  these  things  which  had  com- 
bined in  prompting  her  recent  action  were  now 
replaced  by  a  new  and  sickening  dread,  which  she 
(unused  to  and  restive  under  mental  pain)  strove 
with  the  strength  of  her  strong  will  to  banish — and 
failed. 

"  My  love,  we  shall  miss  Mr.  Jones,"  said  her 
aunt,  as  they  sat  together  under  the  tulip  tree  drink- 
ing their  tea.  "Men  make  a  house  livery,  and  he 
had  such  a  pleasant  cheery  way  about  him.  I  de- 
clare he  reminded  me  more  than  once  of  my  poor 
Thomas." 

"Perhaps  he   will   come   to-morrow?"    Helen 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL,  i8t 

was  sitting,  or  rather,  lounging  back  in  a  deck 
chair,  her  large  white  hat  was  on  the  grass  at  her 
feet,  her  hands  were  clasped  behind  her  head,  her 
eyes,  soft  and  dewy,  were  fixed  on  her  companion's 
face. 

"Nay,  my  love,  he  bade  me  a  last  good-by,  h* 
is  going  to-night— on  business  to  London  I  under- 
stood him  to  say,  and  then  he  goes  to  Paxford,  I 
believe.  Helen,  your  tea  is  getting  cold.  Dear  ! 
dear  !  there  is  a  poor  little  fly  in  it." 

Helen  carefully  extricated  the  fly  with  a  leaf, 
and  placed  it  on  her  knee  to  dry  and  recover  itself, 
but  it  was  past  cure ;  the  tea  had  been  of  fatal 
heat,  and  it  was  dead.  She  looked  at  it ;  how 
easily  it  had  come  to  grief,  a  false  flutter,  a  fall, 
and  a  painful  death  as  punishment  for  one  small 
mistake.  To  and  fro  in  the  sunshine,  myriads  of 
gnats  and  flies  were  darting — 

"You  are  so  thoughtful,  love  ;  what  is  it  ?" 

"  It's  too  hot  to  talk,  auntie.  Just  look  at  the 
bed  of  portulacas,  with  the  sun  on  it.  I  never 
saw  such  tints,  they  would  drive  a  painter  to  de- 
spair." 

"Mrs.  Majoribank's  yellow  poppies  are  magnifi- 
cent, Helen,"  with  the  gentle  jealously  of  the  ama- 
teur gardener.     "Her   coarse  soil  suits  them  to 


xSa  AMA7TER   OF  SKILL. 

perfection ;  she  has  promised  me  some  seed  next 
spring  if  I  live  so  long.  To  my  mind  the  seed- 
time is  the  happiest  of  the  year.  We  sow,  and 
there  is  hardly  a  limit  to  our  expectation  of  joyful 
results.  Now  the  harvest  is  a  period  of  great 
anxiety  ;  we  realize  that  nothing  is  under  our  own 
control,  we  are  at  the  mercy  of  the  elements  ;  we 
gardeners  live  on  faith  like  the  farmers.  Mrs. 
Majoribanks  makes  a  great  mistake  with  her  roses; 
she  will  not  prune,  she  will  not  sacrifice  the  present 
to  the  future.  My  love,  you  have  scratched  your 
hand  ;  you  will  pluck  the  sweet-brier,  you  should 
cut  it,  Helen.  That  is  what  I  said  to  Mr.  Jones  ; 
he  tore  off  one  of  the  shoots  so  roughly  as  he 
passed  the  bush  on  his  way  to  the  gate  ;  he  is 
remarkably  partial  to  sweet-brier.  Indeed  I  never 
knew  such  a  young  man  so  devoted  to  flowers. 
Mrs.  Majoribanks  is  surprised  at  his  intended  mar- 
riage to  that  daughter  of  Lord  Parsons  being  un- 
opposed by  her  noble  relations,  but  he  is  such  an 
amiable  and  wealthy  youth,  and,  I  am  sure,  will 
make  a  considerate  husband  to  any  young  lady. 
Mrs.  Majoribanks  quite  thought,  until  Miss  Jones 
herself  contradicted  the  report,  that  he  came  here 
to  pay  his  court  to  you,  love.  But,  I  said,  Lord 
Parson's  daughter  could,  from  her  assured  position, 


A  MATTER  OP  SKILL.  183 

niarry  into  trade,  a  connection  which  we  should  pre- 
fer a  member  of  our  family  to  avoid.  I  do  not 
like  gossip,  Helen.  I  spoke  most  decidedly,  and 
Mrs.  Majoribanks  quite  agreed  with  me." 

"How  parched  the  lawn  is,  Auntie.     As  soon  as  ; 
the  sun  goes  down  and  it  gets  cooler  we  will  turn  on 
the  hose  and  water  the  grass  as  well  as  the  flowers." 

"Nay,  love,  it  would  so  encourage  the  slugs,  a 
heavy  dew  falls  each  night — but  do  as  you  like — 
Mrs.  Majoribanks  was  very  chatty,  I  stayed  there 
so  long  walking  round  the  garden  and  talking. 
She  told  me  Sir  Adolphus  is  in  London,  he  is 
always  adding  to  his  wealth  by  fortunate  specula- 
tions ;  everything  he  touches  turns  to  gold,  those 
girls  of  his  will  have  fabulous  fortunes  and  yet 
Fred  Majoribanks  will  not  propose  to  the  elder 
one,  who  is  undoubtedly  attached  to  him,  his 
mother  says.  Young  men  are  sadly  headstrong. 
Mrs.  Majoribanks  is  a  clever  woman,  Helen,  she  : 
notices  so  many  trifles  which  escape  my  observa-  i 
tion;  did  you  remark  that  Lady  Jones  had  dyed  her 
hair  ? " 

"She  does  not  dye  it,"  said  the  girl,  quickly, 
"Mrs.  Majoribanks  dyes  hers  purple  and  blues  her 
ugly  face,   and  she  is  a  disagreeable,  spiteful  old 


1 84  A   MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

Miss  Mitford  untied  the  strings  of  her  mush- 
room hat,  which  were  fastened  in  a  bow  beneath 
her  chin,  and  threw  back  the  ribbons  upon  her 
shoulders ;  she  was  overcome. 

"  Mrs.  Majoribanks  is  a  friend  of  mine,  love,"  she 
said,  with  mild  reproof. 

"  Isn't  that  the  very  reason  you  would  like  to 
hear  her  abused  ?  There,  Auntie,  don't  look  shocked, 
it  was  a  joke— only  it  didn't  amuse  you." 

"  You  are  not  yourself,  love,  the  air  is  oppressive 
and  that  fly  prevented  you  drinking  your  tea.  Will 
you  have  some  raspberry  vinegar  instead  ? " 

"  Easpberry  vinegar,"  with  a  laugh  which  was 
half  a  sob.  " Vinegar  already;  no,  thank  you,  I 
daren't  touch  it." 

Helen's  mind  that  evening  was  a  weathercock, 
first  she  declared  herself  too  tired  to  go  to  the 
beach,  then  she  remembered  that  the  children  were 
expecting  her  and  she  must  not  disappoint  them. 
At  the  gate  she  turned  back,  it  was  so  hot  she 
would  stay  in  the  garden ;  on  reaching  the  bush 
of  sweet-brier  she  made  a  fresh  decision,  the  sea 
breeze  on  the  shore  would  be  refreshing,  she  would 
go — nay  she  wouldn't,  it  was  so  long  a  walk — she 
would — she  wouldn't — finally  she  would  and  she 
went. 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL.  185 

She  returned  late,  very  gentle  and  subdued,  very- 
careful  of,  and  caressing  toward,  her  aunt,  with 
pensive  eyes  and  a  restless  spirit. 

This  new  mood  seemed  likely  to  be  permanent,  it 
lasted  through  the  ensuing  week  and  on  to  the  final 
days  of  her  visit. 

The  weather  had  broken  up,  a  succession  of 
thunderstorms  had  succeeded  the  heat,  heavy 
showers  fell  continually,  the  Atlantic  was  troubled 
and  stormy.  Neither  rough  breezes  nor  rain  kept 
Helen  indoors,  she  haunted  the  cliffs  and  the  sea- 
shore. Upon  the  sea-lashed  rocks  she  would  stand 
for  hours,  a  tall,  unbending  figure  against  the  dark 
background,  the  wind  flapping  her  skirts  and  beat- 
ing a  warm  color  into  her  cheeks. 

On  the  last  day  of  her  sojourn  at  Noelcombe  she 
had  gone  for  her  usual  evening  ramble  on  the 
beach  and  she  had  walked  for  so  long  and  for  so 
far  that  she  felt  very  tired  as  she  toiled  up  the  steep 
ascent  homeward.  Fatigue  was  a  new  sensation, 
but  its 

"  Your  merry  heart  goes  all  the  day, 
Your  sad  one  tires  in  a  mile," 

as    Shakespeare    and    several   other    people    have 
hitherto  observed. 


xS6  A   MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

When  she  reached  Carnation  Cottage,  she  saw 
Miss  Elizabeth,  with  chintz  skirt  pinned  up  high, 
and  Betsey's  pattens  protecting  her  feet  from  the 
damp  grass,  spudding  up  daisy  roots  on  the  lawn  ; 
on  seeing  Helen  she  left  her  work  and  hurried 
toward  her. 

"My  dear,"  she  cried,  "I  thought  you  were  never 
coming  !  Mrs.  Majoribanks  has  been  here,  she 
waited  an  hour  on  purpose  to  wish  you  good-by." 

"  I  should  like  to  have  wished  her  good-by,"  said 
Helen  with  a  mischievous  gleam  in  her  eyes.  "  Ein 
ewig  Lebenwohl,  is  not  always  a  wrench." 

44  She  had  news  for  us,  Helen,  she  had  been 
calling  at  the  Joneses';  the  engagement  is  an- 
nounced." 

Helen  was  overtired,  her  knees  were  trembling, 
her  voice  was  rather  harsh,  she  had  raised  it  high. 
She  turned  toward  the  sweet-brier,  then  changed 
her  mind  and  faced  the  elder  lady. 

44  Whose  engagement  ? "  she  asked.  ' 

44  Sir  Edwin  Shuter  and  Miss  Patricia  Jones;  Mrs. 
Majoribanks  is  so  vexed,  she  says  that  her  son 
deliberately  flung  away  his  chance." 

A  beautiful  smile  crept  over  Helen's  face,  the 
dimples  played  in  her  cheeks  ;  she  laughed  a  little 
joyous  contented  laugh  to  herself. 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL.  i8$r 

a  I  hope  they  will  be  as  happy,  as  happy  as  the 
Queen,"  she  said,  returning  to  the  bush  of  sweet- 
brier. 

•'Both  engagements  announced  on  the  same 
day  !  A  curious  coincidence,  Helen.  Patricia's  | 
will  take  place  first.  Lady  Luey  Freemantle  and 
our  Mr.  Jones  will  not  be  married  until  Christmas, 
Lord  Parsons  will  not  return  from  America  before 
then  and  he  wishes  to  be  present.  The  engage- 
ment gives  universal  satisfaction." 

But  the  engagement  was  in  truth  not  nearly 
so  unprecedented  as  Miss  Elizabeth  Mitford  de- 
clared. 

Poor  Mr.  Might,  had  he  known  it,  was  avenged. 


1 88  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 


CHAPTER  XL 

"  We  rise  in  glory  as  we  sink  in  pride  ; 
Where  boasting  ends,  there  dignity  begins." 

Young, 
"  For,  'tis  a  question  left  us  yet  to  prove, 
Whether  love  lead  fortune,  or  else  fortune  love." 

Shakespeare. 

QUMMER  was  long  past.  The  corn  was  all  gath-- 
^  ered  in  ;  the  shivering  trees  were  shedding  their 
variegated  leaves;  the  chilly  breath  of  coming  winter 
was  to  be  felt  at  "rosy  morn  and  dewy  eve."  Even 
to  a  genuine  country  lover,  the  last  days  of  October, 
amid  dying  flowers,  naked  hedges,  newly-stripped 
woods,  and  cloudy  skies,  are  depressing,  and  the 
j  thought  of  pavements,  shop  windows,  dry  crossings, 
and  fresh  faces  possesses  a  new  and  decided  attra- 
tion. 

But  if  Helen  ever  sighed  as  she  trudged  over 
sodden  leaves  and  waded  through  the  muddy  Meri- 
ton  lanes,  no  one  heard  her  ;  if  the  universal  decay 
and  death  of  autumn  saddened  her,  no  one  sus- 
pected that  it  was  so,    How  should  they  \  She  was 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL.  tfy 

the  life  and  soul  of  her  home — an  imprisoned  sun- 
beam in  which  they  all  rejoiced.  If  she  smiled  less 
easily,  her  smile  was  sweeter  and  less  swift  ;  if  her 
spirits  were  no  longer  rampant,  they  did  not  over-  [ 
power — they  sustained— the  humor  of  her  neigh-  • 
bors.  If  she  was  less  ready  of  advice,  less  quick  of 
decision,  more  diffident  of  the  justice  of  her  judg- 
ment, more  lenient,  more  sympathetic,  and  more 
thoughtful,  she  "was  older,"  they  said,  as  though 
age  always  wrought  its  change  thus. 

One  or  two  of  Helen's  girl-acquaintances,  who 
belonged  to  the  conventional,  egotistical,  man-hunt- 
ing sect — of  whom  the  members,  in  converse,  man- 
ner, appearance,  and  lamentable  monotony  of  char- 
acter resemble  each  other  as  closely  as  do  primroses 
—  declared  "she  had  grown  stupid  and  didn't  care 
for  things"  ("things"  meant  their  conversation — 
which,  however,  both  in  purport  and  intention,  far 
exceeded  their  doings).  • 

Because  Helen  had  made  a  mistake,  or  because 
fortune  had  not  been  kind  to  her,  was  no  reason 
that  she  should  revenge  herself  upon  fate  by  mak- 
ing her  innocent  family  exceedingly  uncomfortable, 
if  not  positively  miserable,  by  repinings  and  moody 
preoccupation.  She  was  not  the  sort  of  girl  to 
visit  her  troubles  upon  her  unfortunate  parents^  or 


199  A   MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

make  them  pay  for  her  caprice.  If  she  suffered,  she 
suffered  alone  ;  she  showed  her  mettle,  which  was 
of  the  right  quality.  But,  as  they  said,  she  had 
grown  older.  Under  such  circumstances  a  girl  of 
her  caliber  ages  apace. 

But  before  long  Helen  had  good  cause  to  be  pen- 
sive— a  justifiable  excuse  for  growing  more  sober 
and  less  childish.  A  sad  event  took  place,  an  event 
at  which  remorse,  sorrow,  and  some  natural  excite- 
ment were  blent. 

Mr.  Flight,  to  whom  she  had  been  so  unkind — 
Mr.  Flight,  on  whom  she  had  practiced  her  foolish 
wiles  with  such  unlooked  for  result — Mr.  Flight, 
whose  very  name  turned  her  sick  and  cold — Mr. 
Flight,  of  whom  she  never  thought  without  a  stab 
of  sharp  pain— Mr.  Flight  had  atoned  for  all  his  of- 
fenses by  death.     He  was  dead  ! 

Poor  Mr.  Flight !  At  least  there  was  no  men- 
tion of  broken  heart  as  the  cause  of  his  death.  He 
had,  like  many  a  heart- whole  man,  taken  fever  at 
Florence,  and,  after  a  long  and  severe  illness,  had 
succumbed  to  the  disease.  His  last  words  had  been 
of  Helen  ;  his  last  act  had  been  to  make  his  will,  by 
which  he  left  her  everything  that  he  possessed. 
She  found  herself  the  owner  of  fifteen  thousand 
pounds,  and  forgot  the  satisfaction  of  her  riches  in 


A   MATTER   OF  SKILL.  191 

Her  anger  with  herself.  She  had  never  so  despised 
herself.  She  had  been  despicably,  pitilessly  re- 
morseless. Even  now  she  could  not  cast  her  warm- 
est thoughts  to  him  ;  she  could  not  grieve  for  him, 
she  could  wish  him  back  again. 

She  did  not  want  his  money  ;  all  she  wanted  was 
to  tell  him  how  bitterly  she  repented,  '  and  how 
well  she  understood  now  that  she  had  laughed 
where  she  had  better  have  wept. 

Eegrets  are  vain  emotions,  as  Helen  knew  to 
her  cost — useless  encumberers  of  the  soil.  Regrets 
must  be  strangled,  if  life  is  not  to  be  a  waste  tangle 
of  retrospect ;  for  regrets,  like  all  weeds,  grow 
apace. 

Mrs.  Mitford  was  very  tender  with  the  girl  at 
this  time,  and  would  watch  her,  furtively  and  un- 
observed, from  anxious  eyes.  She  had  drawn  her 
own  conclusion  —  a  fresh  and  false  one  —  from 
Helen's  altered  looks  and  ways. 

"  Henry,"  she  said  one  day — impulsively  disclos- 
ing (as  women  do)  the  secret  which  she  had  in- 
tended to  keep  inviolate  forever — "Henry,  Helen 
regrets  that  poor  young  man. " 

"To  be  sure  she  does,"  the  Rector  answered, 
energetically.  "I  should  think  very  poorly  of  her 
if  she  did  not,     Why,  we  all  regret  him.      His  seis 


192  A   MATTER   OF  SKILL, 

mons  were  above  the  average,  and  his  kindness  of 
heart  exceptional." 

"  But,   Henry,   you  do  not  understand  me.     I 
mean  more  than  I  said.     I  mean  that  she  mistook 
the  nature  of  her  feelings.     She  really  and  truly  j 
loved  him." 

For  a  few  seconds  her  husband  remained  in 
thought,  then  he  spoke  slowly — 

"  No,  Honora — I  think  not.  Do  you  not  re- 
member how  I  scolded  her  for  singing  that  ridicu- 
lous ballad  to  the  poor  man — 

'  It  is  the  most  exceeding  bore,  of  all  the  bores  I  know, 
To  have  a  friend  who  lost  his  heart  a  short  time  ago  ?' 

Had  her  heart  been  touched,  those  words  would  not 
have  occurred  to  her. " 

"I  don't  know  that,"  said  Mrs.  Mitford,  with  an 
indulgent  smile.  u  A  girl  will  say  or  do  anything 
from  a  sheer  love  of  teasing."  j 

Again,  with  a  thoughtful  brow,  her  husband  re- 1 
viewed  the  past,  then  he  spoke  with  decision — 

"  You  are  wrong,  Honora.  You  were  always  a 
most  imaginative  woman.  That  poor  young  man 
had  no  attraction  for  the  child.  I  found  her  hiding 
in  the  hayloft  more  than  once  when  he  called.  As 
there  was  no  chance  of  her  being  discovered  by  him, 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL.  193 

I  do  not  think  it  possible  she  would  have  concealed 
herself  had  she  formed  an  attachment  for  him." 

Mrs.  Mitf ord  was  shaken.  She  was  always  ready- 
to  distrust  her  own  judgment  and  to  rely  upon  that 
of  her  husband,  so  she  brightened  perceptibly. 

"  So  she  hid  in  the  loft,  did  she  ?  How  Frances 
has  searched  for  her,  while  that  poor  young  man 
was  with  me  for  hours  in  the  drawing-room.  That 
idea  upsets  my  theory  ;  I  am  glad  of  it.  But  it  is 
odd  to  me  that  our  child  should  be  so  hard  of  heart. 
I  had  had  several  slight  affairs  before  I  was  her 
age." 

t(  I  don't  see  anything  wrong  with  Helen  ;  she  is 
prettier  than  ever,  and  as  merry  as  a  grig.  You 
women  are  always  raking  and  sifting  and  prying 
for  a  love-tale.  If  a  girl  is  happy  without  a  hus- 
band, you  won't  believe  it." 

Mrs.  Mitf  ord.  smiled  slyly.  Yet  her  husband  was 
do  doubt  right.  j 

"I  shall  send  her  away,  Henry.     Now  that  there  ■ 
is  no  difficulty  about  ways  and  means,  I  should  like 
her  to  go  and  see  my  people.      Change  of  air  and 
scene  is  excellent  for  mind  and  body,  besides  which 
she  will  meet  many — " 

"  So  you  won't  be  content  till  you  have  lost  her, 
Honora.    You  foolish  woman,  why  won't  you  keep 


i94  A   MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

her  here  as  long  as  you  can  ?     You  will  break  your 
heart  when  she  marries — I  know  it." 

"I  should  break  my  heart  if  she  didn't  marry," 
Mrs.  Mitford  said,  smiling  very  sweetly  at  her  Rec- 
tor ;  "for  I  want  her  to  be  happy— as  happy  as  I 
am." 

So  it  was  arranged  that  Helen  should  pay  a 
round  of  visits,  with  which  arrangement  she  was 
nothing  loath  to  comply.  She  wrote  lively  letters 
home,  descriptive  of  lively  and  varied  life.  She 
made  new  friends  and  met  pleasant  people  ;  she 
seemed  to  enjoy  everything  and  find  amusement 
everywhere.  There  was  an  even,  a  sustained  con- 
tent to  be  detected  in  her  mode  of  writing  which 
was  foreign  to  her  years,  and  particularly  new  to 
her  former  habits  of  mind.  In  each  letter  she  in- 
quired for  her  Aunt  Elizabeth.  "  She  never  writes 
to  me,"  was  her  complaint,  repeated  over  and  over 
again. 

She  had  been  away  from  home  about  two  months 
when  the  following  letter  from  her  mother 
awakened,  with  somewhat  insufficient  cause,  an  un- 
conquerable anxiety  about  the  dear  writer's  health, 
and  drove  Helen  to  return  to  Meriton  upon  the 
very  day  after  she  received  the  disquieting  allusion. 

Mrs.  Mitford  had  written  thus — 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL.  195 

"My  darling  Helen, — How  cold  it  is.  I 
hope  that  if  you  are  tempted  to  wander  about 
those  draughty  galleries  at  your  uncle's  after  din- 
ner that  you  do  not  forget  to  wear  a  shawl.  I 
am  reminded  of  such  dangers  to  your  health  by 
a  tiresome  cold  in  my  head  which  I  caught  last 
eve  pottering  about  the  garden  with  your  dear 
father,  who  is  more  careful  to  protect  his  fruit 
trees  than  his  wife  from  the  frost.  I  wrapped  my 
head  in  flannel  and  drank  several  jugs  of  treacle 
posset  before  going  to  bed.  I  slept  heavily,  but 
awoke  headachy  and  stupid,  so  this  letter  will  be 
very  short  and  flat,  dear.  I  am  rejoiced  to  hear 
how  well  you  enjoyed  the  ball  and  how  delightful 
you  find  your  surroundings.  Do  not  hurry  home. 
I  love  to  think  of  you  admired,  happy,  and  mak- 
ing the  most  of  your  youth.  I  read  your  letters 
again  and  again,  and  you  are  never  absent  from 
my  thoughts,  my  dearest. 

"Your  loving  mother, 

"HONORA  MlTFORD. 

"P.  S. — By  the  by,  your  Aunt  Elizabeth  has 
written  at  last ;  your  father  received  the  letter 
some  days  ago.  Betsey  has  been  ill— seriously  ill 
—and  her  time  has  been  fully  occupied  with  the 


i96  A  MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

consequent  sick  nursing;  she  is  better  now  and 
downstairs  again.  Elizabeth  seems  very  full  of 
those  dreadful  Jones  people,  who  have  gone  a 
frightful  smash.  The  old  man  has  been  speculat- 
ing in  the  most  reckless  way — the  shock  of  ruin, 
upon  all  those  good  dinners  of  which  we  have  heard, 
brought  on  apoplexy ;  he  is  dead.  If  I  can  find 
Elizabeth's  letter,  I  will  inclose  it." 

But  the  latter  had  not  been  inclosed,  and  very 
soon  after  Helen's  arrival  at  Meriton  she  led  the 
conversation  to  Noelcombe. 

"What  was  the  matter  with  poor  old  Betsey,'' 
the  girl  asked.  She  stood  before  the  fire  with  her 
arm  around  her  mother's  waist.  Mrs.  Mitford 
could  not  take  her  eyes  away  from  the  contem- 
plation of  her  beautiful  child.  She  had  improved ; 
yes,  if  it  was  possible,  she  was  more  lovable  and 
loving  than  before,  and  she  had  torn  herself  from  a 
household  of  friends  and  cousins,  had  relinquished 
the  prospect  of  a  party,  had  hurried  home  to  see 
with  her  own  eyes  and  hear  with  her  own  ears  that 
the  "  tiresome  cold "  of  which  she  had  been  told 
was  of  no  deadly  character. 

"  A  very  serious  touch  of  influenza.  Oh,  Nellie, 
[  can't  bear  to  think  that  you  have  left  so  much 
pleasure  on  my  account.    It  was  foolish  of  me  to 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL.  197 

mention  my  cold,  but  I  thought  you  knew  I  only 
sneeze  for  a  day  or  two  and  put  on  an  extra  shawl, 
and  then  one  of  my  colds  goes.  Why,  I  am  quite 
well  again  to-day.  The  delight  of  seeing  you,  my 
darling,  is  spoiled  when  I  remember  what  you  have 
given  up  for  me." 

"I  have  given  up  nothing,  mother.  I  wanted 
to  come  home  every  single  day  I  was  away.  Of 
course  I  was  having  great  fun — lots  going  on — but 
I  was  a  little  mammy-sick ;  I  always  am.  How 
long  was  Betsey  ill  ? " 

"I  don't  remember  exactly.  Helen,  did  you 
meet  with  any  very  charming  people  ? " 

"Oh,  yes,  most  of  them  were  awfully  nice. 
Mother,  you  did  not  inclose  auntie's  letter." 

"  No,  dearest,  your  father  had  gone  out  and  must 
have  taken  it  with  him.  I  couldn't  find  it,  I  asked 
him  where  it  was  just  before  you  came,  but  he  had 
J  torn  it  up  and  thrown  it  into  the  waste-paper 
basket.  Never  mind,  she  had  nothing  to  say  ;  she 
does  write  such  dull  letters,  poor  dear." 

Late  that  night  when  the  Meriton  household  had 
been  long  asleep  a  stealthy  figure,  wrapped  in  a  red 
flannel  dressing-gown,  with  brown  hair  hanging 
straight  and  thick  to  the  knees,  and  a  beautiful, 
eager  face,  on  which  the  candle  that  she  shaded 


r$?  A  MATTEL   OF  SKILL. 

with  her  hand  shone,  crept  slowly  and  cautiously 
down  the  stairs  and  made  her  noiseless  way  to  the 
rector's  study. 

Helen, — for  she  it  was — set  patiently  to  work 
over  the  accomplishment  of  her  intention.  Sitting 
on  the  floor  by  the  side  of  the  waste-paper  basket, 
she  pieced,  contrived,  patched  the  severed  and  scat- 
tered fragments  of  Miss  Elizabeth's  letter  into  a 
legible  whole.  It  was  a  difficult  and  laborious 
achievement.  She  was  blue  with  cold  ;  her  teeth 
chattered,  and  her  fingers  were  stiff  and  half  frozen  ; 
bodily  discomforts  were  unheeded,  for  her  heart 
was  hot  within  her.  Again  and  again  she  read 
those  pieced  atoms,  and  then,  gathering  them  care- 
fully together,  she  stole  back  to  her  room.  Holding 
them  in  her  closed  hand,  she  got  into  bed  and  lay 
there  cold,  shivering,  and  sleepless  until  dawn ; 
then  she  relighted  the  candle  and  reread  the  letter, 
which  ran  as  follows  : — 

"My  very  dear  Henry, — I  have  not  written 
since  I  congratulated  and  condoled  with  you  and 
yours  on  the  sad  death  and  extraordinary  generosity 
of  your  late  curate.  It  is  one  of  those  events  over 
<vhich  tears  and  gratitude  mingle.  I  do  not  wonder 
at  his  attachment  to  my  niece,  for  during  her  visit 


A  MATTER   OF  SKILL.  199 

at  my  cottage  I  learned  to  love  her  dearly.  Betsey 
has  been  ill ;  this  must  be  my  excuse  for  an  un- 
usually lengthy  silence,  for  my  time  was  much  oc- 
cupied both  with  attending  to  her  requirements  and  [ 
fulfilling  her  necessarily  relinquished  duties.  She  j 
suffered  from  influenza,  and  was  for  some  days  in  a 
critical  condition  ;  she  is  now  happily  convalescent. 
Irritability — a  natural  consequence  of  weakness,  it 
seems — has  attacked  her ;  but  of  that,  perhaps,  it  is 
unkind  to  speak.  Helen  will  grieve  with  me  over 
the  sad  ruin  of  our  kind  friends  the  Joneses.  The 
news  of  the  catastrophe  fell  like  a  thunderbolt  upon 
us  here,  though  I  understood  from  Mrs.  Majoribanks 
that  something  of  the  sort  was  anticipated  by  the 
better  informed  in  London.  It  has  been  discovered 
that  poor  Sir  Adolphus,  whose  sudden  death  from 
apoplexy  heralded  the  publicity  of  the  disaster,  was 
a  speculator  of  colossal  and  reckless  enterprise.  His 
business  had  declined  somewhat,  and  his  expenditure  ' 
was  in  excess  of  his  receipts.  He  sought  to  recoup 
himself  by  a  venture  of  great  risk  and  magnitude  ; 
its  failure  hastened,  if  it  did  not  wholly  occasion, 
the  impending  calamity.  I  understand  that  the 
fortunes  of  Lady  Shuter  and  Mrs.  Mason  are  secure  ; 
also  that  a  considerable  sum  was  settled  upon  the 
widow  and  son,  but  this  they  have  decided  to  relin- 


*oo  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

quish  in  favor  of  the  creditors,  whose  claims  will  in 
consequence  be  fully  discharged.  Much  admiration 
is  expressed  for  their  conduct  by  the  kindly  dis- 
posed, though  it  is  grievous  to  find  how  many  will 
discover  something  at  which  to  cavil  in  an  action, 
however  noble.  The  nights  are  very  cold,  and  I 
have  to  superintend  the  warming  of  the  conserva- 
tory. John  overheated  the  flues  one  day  last  week, 
and  had  I  not  detected  his  blunder  in  time  to  avert 
danger,  I  tremble  to  think  of  what  the  consequences 
might  have  been.  Convey  my  warmest  love  to  dear 
Honora,  and 

"  Believe  me,  your  fondly  attached, 

"  Elizabeth  Mitford." 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  a  day  on  which 
enforced  idleness  begets  "  long  thoughts. "  When 
the  organ  plays  and  when  the  parson  preaches, 
upon  what  vast  wanderings  does  an  ill-regulated 
attention  engage,  upon  what  diverse  tracts  and 
over  what  leagues  of  space  does  imagination  travel. 
If  Helen's  mind  was  not  under  proper  control, 
her  voice,  for  which  the  congregation  were  wont 
to  listen,  and  with  which  she  led  the  village  choir, 
had  grown  in  depth  and  power,  it  rang  clear, 
eweet,  and  rich,  never  faltering  nor  tiring  through 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL.  *ox 

the  chants  and  hymns.  Her  eyes,  deep  as  the  sea, 
and  very  grave,  were  lowered  to  the  contemplation 
of  her  book. 

(Upon  Monday  morning  the  news  of  Miss 
Elizabeth  Mitford's  illness  reached  the  Kectory, 
this  time  it  was  Betsey  who  wrote.  Her  style 
was  not  discursive,  in  three  bold  lines  she  announced 
that  her  mistress  "  was  very  bad  with  the  influenza, 
and  that  the  doctor  came  twice  a  day,  but  said 
nothing." 

Mr.  Mitford  received  the  letter  at  the  breakfast 
table  and  read  it  aloud  to  his  companions. 
Both  he  and  his  wifej  between  the  discussion  of 
ham,  eggs,  and  coffee,  were  full  of  sympathy  with 
the  invalid.  Helen  did  not  join  her  condolences 
with  theirs,  but  when  the  topic  was  at  length  dis- 
missed she  suddenly  and  unexpected  recalled  it  by 
suggesting  that  she,  herself,  should  go  to  Carnatioii 
1  Cottage  and  nurse  "poor  Aunt  Elizabeth.  She 
I  loved  sick  nursing,  she  loved  Aunt  Elizabeth,  she 
should  love  to  be  with  her,  might  she  go  ? " 

The  mild  opposition  of  her  mother  gave  her 
resolution  strength,  she  described  the  miseries,  the 
sufferings,  the  ravages  of  the  Eussian  pest  with 
such  tragic  vehemence  as  to  wring  the  listeners' 
tender  hearts,  till  they  swallowed  all  remembrance 


202  A  MATTER   OF  SKILL, 

of  the  void  the  loss  of  the  girl's  presence  would 
entail,  and  told  her  eagerly  that  she  should  go,  she 
should  go  at  once,  that  very  day. 

"  You  have  inherited  your  father's  good  heart, 
Helen,"  said  her  mother,  fondly. 

"  You  have  learned  unselfishness  from  your  dear 
mother,  Helen,"  added  her  father,  patting  her  head 
caressingly. 

These  terms  of  approbation  affected  their  daugh- 
ter strangely,  she  colored  up  to  the  eyes,  tried 
to  speak,  but  her  quivering  lips  would  not  obey 
her,  and  then,  with  a  murmur,  of  which  the  words 
"too  good  to  me,"  alone  were  intelligible, .  got  up 
and  left  the  room. 

"Helen  has  grown  so  sensitive,  Henry.  Last 
night  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears  during  your  ser- 
mon, and  really  I  hardly  thought  it  so  affecting  as 
usual." 

"She  is  a  very  good  girl,  indeed,"  said  the  Rec- 
tor, heartily,  "give  me  the  Bradshaw,  Honora,  I 
must  look  out  her  train  and  send  a  telegram  to 
Betsey." 

The  next  evening  saw  Helen  once  more  an 
Inmate  of  Carnation  Cottage — the  warmth  of 
her  welcome  was  overpowering.  She  found  that 
Betsey  had  not  exaggerated  the  severity  of  Miss 


A   MATTER   OF  SKILL.  203 

Mitford's  illness,  and  Betsey  herself  was  still  too 
weak  to  attend  to  her  mistress,  so  that  Helen's 
presence  was  most  opportune.  For  several  days 
she  hardly  left  the  sickroom,  she  was  a  devoted,  , 
gentle,  and  skillful  nurse.  Under  her  dexterous ' 
care  Miss  Mitford  steadily  gained  ground,  and 
before  a  week  had  passed  was  down  stairs  on  the 
sofa. 

Though  Carnation  Cottage  was  at  its  best  in 
the  spring  and  summer,  its  winter  comforts  were 
not  to  be  despised ;  heavy  portieres  excluded 
draughts,  the  conservatory  supplied  an  abundant 
stock  of  flowers ;  log  fires  blazed  in  the  low  grates. 
Helen  loved  every  nook  and  corner,  every  chair 
and  table  in  the  little  drawing-room,  she  sat  on  a 
tiny  chair  which  she  had  drawn  to  the  sofa-side  on 
which  her  aunt,  propped  on  down  pillows  and 
covered  with  a  couvre-pied,  was  reclining,  and 
looked  round  her  with  a  new  far-away  expression  : 
in  her  eyes  which  made  them  very  sad  and  dreamy.  , 
Presently  these  two  began  to  discuss  a  subject 
which  they  had  already  worn  threadbare,  they  had 
talked  it  over  so  often  and  so  minutely,  that  they 
had  no  new  light,  no  new  thought,  no  new  diffi- 
culty about  the  matter,  but  yet  as  soon  as  Miss 
Mitford    had  finished   her   afternoon    siesta    and 


*o4  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

opened  her  eyes,  she  naturally  and  inevitably  re- 
turned to  the  familiar  theme. 

"  My  love,  Lady  Jones  had  an  annuity,  a  small 
annuity,  but  sufficient  for  her  wants,  left  her  by  her 
father  ;  of  course  it  was  praiseworthy  of  her  to 
relinguish  her  claim  to  the  money,  but  when  we 
remember  that  the  young  man  has  no  money,  not 
a  sixpence,  that  he  has  been  reared  in  affluence, 
that  he  has  never  known  an  ungratified  desire, 
and  that  under  these  circumstances,  he  voluntarily 
relinquished  a  handsome  independence,  we  must 
find  it  impossible  to  express,  with  adequate  strength, 
our  warm  admiration  of  the  nobility  of  his  con- 
duct." 

Helen  had  taken  up  the  piece  of  embroidery 
from  her  lap  and  had  begun  to  stitch  with  some 
show  of  industry,  she  was  obliged  to  bend  low  over 
her  work,  and  the  winter  afternoon  was  drawing  to 
a  close,  and  the  room  was  dusk. 

"  I  wonder  what  he  will  do,"  she  said. 

"  He  will  do  well,  mark  my  words,  Helen.  He 
has  many  friends.  I  hear  that  already  he  has  en- 
tered a  house  of  business  in  which  he  is  likely, 
through  the  favor  of  the  proprietor,  to  succeed,  if 
he  proves  himself  intelligent  and  reliable — such 
qualities  we  know  he  possesses.    Don't  sigh,  my 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL.  Jo  J 

love;  rats  alone  desert  a  sinking  ship,  the  cap- 
tain and  her  crew  are  the  last  to  leave  her.  If  that 
unworthy  woman  whom  he  loved  chose  to  re- 
nounce him  at  the  approach  of  trouble,  she  is  no 
better  than  a  rat,  and  of  such  vermin  he  is  well 
rid." 

"  Perhaps  it  was  not  quite  all  her  fault,"  said 
Helen,  slowly  ;  "perhaps  he  would  not  drag  the 
girl  he  liked  into  poverty.  Perhaps  she  could  not 
help  it." 

"She  should  have  made  a  point  of  helping  it," 
said  Aunt  Elizabeth,  with  energy.  "  When  does  a 
man  really  find  comfort  in  a  woman  ?  When  does 
a  man  appreciate  the  blessing  of  an  affectionate 
wife  ?  Why,  when  he  is  in  trouble,  to  be  sure. 
And  any  woman  worthy  the  name  knows  it,  and 
glories  in  the  knowledge  ;  and  any  woman  worthy 
of  the  name  would  have  remained  by  his  side  as 
constant  as  a  compass  and  as  adhesive  as  a  burr. 
She  should  have  been  glad  and  proud  to  stay  by 
him.  I  met  him  in  the  road  one  afternoon  last 
week  ;  I  ran  and  shook  him  by  the  hand  — I 
couldn't  speak — but  he  was  just  as  usual,  though  a 
little  graver  in  his  manner,  and  his  face  looked 
older  ;  twenty  years  older  he  had  grown  in  three 
months.    He  came  in  here  with  me  and  bad  some 


2o6  A  MATTER   Of   SKILL. 

tea ;  he  stayed  a  long  while — he  seemed  pleased  to 
stay.  We  talked  of  the  summer,  love,  and  of  you, 
and  I  told  him  of  the  strange  generosity  of  poor 
/  Mr.  Flight,  and  then  he  went  away  ;  but  he  prom- 
ised to  come  again  if  he  was  at  Noelcombe.  He 
should  be  to  and  fro  till  the  business  was  settled 
and  the  house  sold,  he  said." 

u  Did  he  say  anything  about  that  girl,  auntie  ?" 
'  Which  girl  ?  Oh,  you  mean  Lady  Lucy  Free- 
mantle.  No,  my  love,  he  talked  of  you  ;  men  do 
not  speak  of  matters  upon  which  they  feel  deeply. 
He  talked  much  of  you.  I  showed  him  your  new 
photograph ;  he  did  not  think  it  at  all  good, 
not  at  all.  It  is  a  most  curious  thing,  Helen,  I 
have  mislaid  that  likeness  ;  from  that  day  to  this,  I 
have  never  found  it,  though  I  have  searched  dili- 
gently, I  must  have  sent  it  back  to  the  library  in  a 
book,  I  have  lost  many  letters  thus  and  some  valu- 
able packets  of  flower  seeds.  The  orchid  which  the 
young  man  gave  me  is  dead — it  wanted  more  heat 
than  I  could  give  it  here.  Good  gracious,  love, 
that  is  the  front  door  bell ;  pull  down  the  couvre- 
pied  over  my  feet  and  set  my  cap  straight ;  the 
room  is  nearly  dark.  Will  you  light  the  candles 
on  the  mantelpiece  ?  What  ?  you  prefer  the  dusk  ? 
Very   well.    My   love  —  Helen !    where    are    you 


A   MATTEL   OF  SKILL.  207 

going  ?    Don't  leave  the  room.      Stay,  I  want  you 
to  stay." 

But  she  had  gone ;  and  while  Miss  Mitford  was 
still  imploring  and  commanding  her  to  return,  Mr. 
Jones  was  shown  into  the  room. 


*o§  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

"  Great  let  me  call  him,  for  he  conquered  me." 

Young. 
"Had  I  not  loved  thee,  my  sky  had  been  clear, 
Had  I  not  loved  thee,  J.  had  not  been  here, 
Weeping  by  thee." 

TITHETHER  some  recollection  of  her  own  girl- 
hood, or  whether  the  glimpse  of  her  niece's  face 
as  she  escaped,  or  whether  the  intuitive  perception 
of  a  woman  in  the  scenting-out  of  such  '  'small-game" 
as  a  love-affair,  brought  nascent  suspicion  upon  Miss 
Elizabeth  Mitford's  hitherto  obtuse  mind,  she  could 
never  afterward  decide.  But,  in  the  flash  of  an 
eye,  the  suspicion  grew  to  certainty  :  she  knew  that  ' 
what  "Thomas"  had  once  been  to  her  this  hand-  • 
some  but  poverty-stricken  and  recently- jilted  visitor 
was  to  her  dear  niece. 

She  had  been  parted  from  her  Thomas  and  was 
wont  to  congratulate  herself  on  that  circumstance, 
but  to  hav3  escaped  the  torture  of  that  never-to-be* 
f  orgotfep.  vr&j&i*  sh*  would  have  endured  the  long 


A  MATTER  OF  SKILL.  209 

unhappy  wifehood  of  her  successful  rival,  had  the 
choice  between  those  two  evils  been  left  to  her  de- 
cision. She  would — she  would  indeed.  Memories 
and  half -dead  longings  were  awakened  by  the  tran- 
sient glimpse  of  Helen's  face,  and  she  was  ready 
for  the  first  time  in  her  life  to  proclaim  her  weak- 
ness. 

She  felt  quite  faint  at  her  discovery,  but  this  did 
not  prevent  her  receiving  the  gentleman  with  great 
warmth  and  friendliness.     He  was,  of  course,  totally 
unconscious  and  at  ease.     He  sat  down  on  the  same 
tiny  chair  as  before  and  asked  with  much  interest 
about  the  influenza.     Her  answers  were  absent  and  a 
little  puzzling  ;  she  hardly  knew  what  he  said  so  sick 
was  she  with  the  responsibility  of  immediate  action. 
Should  she  casually  mention    her  niece's  presence 
and  judge  by  his  face  whether  the  knowledge  af- 
fected him  in  any  way  ?    But  the  most  expressive 
feature — his  mouth — was  hidden  by   a   mustache, 
and  those  dark  eyes  of  his  defied  scrutiny,  especially 
in  this  dusky  light.     He  went  on  talking;  the  frank 
youthf ulness  of  his  manner  had  changed;  he  was  no 
longer  debonair  and  careless — he  had  grown  earnest 
and  grave,  almost  to  sternness.     Every  now  and 
then  there  was  a  weary  note  in  his  voice  which  wrung 
the  old  lady's  heart;  she  grew  each  moment  mors 


2io  A   MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

confused  and  abstracted.  He  became  aware  of  this, 
and,  thinking  that  she  was  weak  from  recent  illness, 
and  therefore  unfit  for  conversation,  he  presently 
rose  to  take  his  leave. 

"I  am  tiring  you,"  he  said,  "so  I  will  go.  I 
have  finished  all  the  business  down  here.  I  go  up 
to  town  to-morrow  and  get  to  work  next  week,  so  I 
must  wish  you  a  long  good-by." 

"You  must  not  go,"  with  the  authority  of  a 
general  in  action;  "you  must  stay  to  tea.  Kindly 
ring  the  bell." 

He  obeyed  her  and  reseated  himself. 

"I  can  never  tear  myself  away,  if  you  are  so 
kind,"  he  said. 

She  nodded,  she  could  not  speak.  "His  great 
grandfather,"  she  was  thinking,  "wore  three  hats 
and  dealt  in  second-hand  wardrobes — he  has  not  got 
a  sixpence  in  the  world — he  has  been  jilted,"  but 
when  the  bell  was  answered  she  spoke  out  her  order 
clearly  and  with  decision. 

"Will  you  tell  Miss  Helen  that  Mr.  Jones  is  here, 
and  ask  her  to  come  down  and  make  tea." 

Miss  Mitford  was  too  agitated  to  take  notes,  so 
to  speak,  of  the  situation,  but  she  could  not  avoid 
seeing  him  start  or  hearing  the  exclamation — 

"Helen?     Helen  here,   in  this  house?"    before 


A   MATTER   OF  SKILL.  211 

his  calmer  reception  of  the  news  by  the  remark, 
u  I  had  no  idea  Miss  Mitford  was  with  you,"  reached 
her. 

As  the  door  opened  she  watched  him,  wondering 
whether  it  was  her  fancy  which  made  his  face  look 
so  white,  but  the  incomer  was  not  Helen,  but  Betsey 
with  the  tea. 

"  Miss  Helen  went  out  ten  minutes  ago,  ma'am  ; 
she  has  gone  to  the  post." 

This  news  staggered  her  aunt,  she  stared  blankly 
at  her  companion,  a  sudden  flame  leaped  out  of  a 
kindled  log  and  played  on  the  fire  of  his  eyes.  Then, 
for  the  first  time  in  all  her  guileless  life,  Miss  Eliza- 
beth created  a  plot. 

"Mr.  Jones,"  she  said,  uyou  hear  that  Helen 
has  gone  out;  I  am  vexed  with  her  for  doing  so, 
she  should  have  sent  a  servant  with  the  letter ;  it 
is  growing  dark  rapidly,  the  road  through  the 
glen  is  very  lonely,  it  is  not  fit  for  her  to  walk 
there  alone.  You  will  think  me  a  great  fidget  but 
it  would  be  such  a  relief  to  my  mind  if  you 
would  go  and  meet  her,"  then,  seeing  the  hesita- 
tion of  his  face,  she  went  on  tremulously,  "I  have 
been  ill ;  the  illness  has  left  me  weak  and  nervous, 
I  am  anxious  about  her  and  I  presume  upon  your 
kindness," 


212  A   MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

The  request  so  couched  was  almost  impossible  to 
refuse,  he  did  not  attempt  to  refuse  it,  he  went. 
When  she  heard  the  garden  gate  slam  a  minute  or 
two  later,  she  cried,  plaintively : 

'  ■  Dear,  dear,  I  am  a  creature  of  impulse,  after 
all, "  and  she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  trem- 
bled. Still  trembling  she  left  the  sofa  and  rang  the 
bell  for  Betsey. 

" Betsey,"  she  said,  "I  am  exceedingly  tired, 
I  shall  go  up  stairs  to  my  room  and  keep  quiet. 
Tell  Louisa  to  bring  the  lamps  in  here,  she  may 
put  on  the  new  pink  shades,  she  must  make 
up  a  large  fire  and  keep  the  muffins  hot.  Mr. 
Jones  and  Miss  Mitford  will  be  in  to  tea  before 
long." 

"  How  long,  ma'am  ?" 

"  Well,  indeed,  I  don't  quite  know,  Betsey.  Give 
me  your  arm,  I  must  lean  on  something,  I  feel  so 
very  shaky." 

A  young  girl,  however  courageous,  has  seldom 
the  hardihood  necessary  to  lead  her  to  face  a  diffi- 
cult situation  when  by  any  possible  action  she  can 
escape  the  ordeal.  Flight  is  the  first  and  often  the 
only  available  tactic.  To  this  refuge  Helen  had  re- 
sorted. She  had  put  on  her  coat  and  hat,  stamped 
and  sealed  her  letter  to  Mrs.   Mitford,  and,  after 


A   MATTER   OF  SKILL.  *ij 

mentioning  carelessly  to  Betsey  that  she  was  going 
to  the  post,  she  softly  crept  across  the  hall  and 
let  herself  out  by  the  front  door.  It  was  dreadful 
to  leave  the  house,  but  to  remain  there  was  worse, 
she  had  escaped  the  meeting — but,  unfortunately, 
she  could  not  escape  herself.  She  walked  very 
quickly,  it  was  dark  beneath  the  trees  in  the  glen 
and  their  branches  creaked,  for  the  wind  was 
blowing  sharply.  Down  the  steep,  rough  village 
street  she  sped  apace — how  soon,  how  far  too 
^soon  she  reached  the  post-office  and  fulfilled  her 
errand ! 

The  sun  had  gone  down,  but  a  full  moon  was 
rising  over  the  sea,  the  tide  was  high  and  the  rough 
waves  were  bellowing  at  the  foot  of  the  cliffs. 
They  lashed  the  broken  rocks — they  drew  Helen 
toward  them,  for  their  loud  wailing  was  attune  with 
her  heart ;  they  were  in  sympathy  with  her  mood. 
Their  might,  their  strength,  their  majesty  over- 
whelmed her  personal  trouble,  she  could  forget  all 
things  in  heaven  and  earth  if  she  might  stand  beside 
them. 

Below  the  village,  to  the  right  of  the  beach,  was 
a  broad  ridge  of  rock  which  had  been  a  haunt  of 
hers  in  other  times,  the  descent  thither  was  hazard- 
ous in  the  faint  light  but  she  climbed  down  and 


2i4  A   MATTER   OF  SKILL, 

stood  on  the  wide  ledge  with  the  wind  beating 
against  her  and  the  salt  spray  wetting  her  face. 
The  silver  pathway  spread  from  her  very  feet  to  the 
pale  moon,  black  western  clouds  were  piled  like 
mountains  against  the  faint  sky  on  which  a  few 
stars  glimmered.  The  heavy  crested  waves  broke 
with  a  roar  like  thunder  on  the  crags,  the  cream - 
like  foam  looked  soft  and  gentle,  now  and  again  a 
drenching,  large- dropped  shower  of  spray  fell  upon 
the  rock  a  few  feet  beyond  her. 

"Unfathomable  sea,  whose  waves  are  years, 
Ocean  of  time,  whose  waters  of  deep  woe 
Are  brackish  with  the  salt  of  human  tears," 

and  yet  whose  sound  is  a  tonic  to  our  spirits  as 

much  as  its  breath  is  a  tonic  for  our  bodies. 
It  was  long  before  she  turned   away  from  the 
^  wonder  of  the  waves,  away  from  the  beauty  and 

grandeur  of  the  sky,  she  was  calmed  and  strength- 
"  ened,  she  was  ready  to  "go  home.*'  Close  behind 
-  her  stood  a  figure  whose  approach  the  roar  of  the 

water  had  drowned  and  who  had  neither  spoken 

nor  moved  but  who  had  been  standing,  motionless, 

watching  her. 
His  face  was  set  and  stern,  and  there  was  a  great 

sadness  in  the  eyes  which  met  hers  as  she  turned 


A   MATTER   OF  SKILL,  215 

slowly  round  toward  him.  Her  mind  was  so  full 
of  him  ;  he  seemed  to  have  been  so  near  her  all 
through  these  months  that  she  was  hardly  surprised 
to  find  him  there,  in  the  flesh,  by  her  side.  He 
spoke  to  her  as  if  their  meeting  and  his  presence  j 
were  things  of  course,  as  if  they  had  never  parted, 
as  if  he  had  forgotten  that  last  scene  from  the 
memory  of  which  all  her  meditation  had  been 
drawn  of  late. 

u  I  heard  where  you  had  gone  and  followed 
you,"  he  said.  "The  tide  is  still  coming  in ;  the 
waves  lick  over  this  rock  in  a  squall ;  it  isn't  a 
safe  place  for  you." 

She  was  angry  with  the  raging  waters  for 
deadening  the  full  sound  of  his  voice.  She  had 
to  lift  up  her  head  to  catch  the  meaning  of  his 
words. 

"  I  was  sent  to  fetch  you  home." 

Alas,  he  had  been  sent !  He  had  always  read  her 
thoughts,  he  did  so  now,  but  not  correctly. 

"Miss  Mitford  sent  me — I  hope  you  do  not  mind 
— she  was  anxious  about  you,  so  I  came ;  it  was," 
slowly,  "  the  only  chance  I  had  of  seeing  you,  so, 
right  or  wrong,  I  took  it." 

"  We  must  go,"  she  said. 

"Not  yet,    not    yet.     Wait;    you    won't  mind 


216  A   MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

waiting  just  a  moment ;  it  will  be  the  last  time — 
the  only  time — don't  you  remember  we  used  to 
want  to  watch  a  storm  together  ?  " 

So  she  turned  again  to  the  sea,  as  he  wished,  and 
waited. 

He  was  young ;  the  black  nightmare  of  all  his 
troubles  rolled  away  like  a  dream,  and  the  glamour 
of  the  past  returned  upon  him.  He  had  been 
bereaved,  ruined,  jilted,  but  his  years  were  few  and 
his  love  was  great — how  great  it  was  he  had  dis- 
covered when,  from  a  careless  habit  of  drifting  with 
the  tide  and  in  pique,  he  had  bound  himself  irrev- 
ocably to  another  woman.  He  was  free  now  to 
play  with  fire  ;  he  might  seam  and  scar  his  fingers 
at  his  will,  he  might  just,  for  this  one  last  time, 
return  to  the  dear  days  when  he  had  been  so  hope- 
ful, so  happy,  when  life  had  been  a  merry  game, 
when  poverty,  loneliness,  and  failure  had  seemed 
remote  as  death.  He  might  feast  his  eyes  on  her 
for  the  last  time  ;  he  might  listen  once  more  to  the 
music  of  her  voice — if  she  would  only  speak,  which 
she  didn't.  At  any  rate  she  stood  close  beside  him. 
The  curves  of  her  graceful  figure,  the  erect  pose  of 
her  head,  the  sweep  of  her  uplifted  arm — for  she 
held  the  flapping  brim  of  her  hat  with  her  hand — 
were  all  alike  beautiful  and  familiar.     Before  them 


A  MATTER   OP  SKILL.  217 

the  roar  and   splash   of  the   waves  boomed   and 
clashed  an  eternal  diapason. 

"I  am  glad  you  came  here,"  he  said,  after  a 
long,  long  silence  ;  "I  am  glad  we  have  seen  a 
storm  together,  after  all.     Come,  we  must  go." 

She  turned  docilely  and  followed  him.  He  led 
the  way  up  the  difficult  path  to  the  village ;  he  did 
not  offer  to  help  her,  she  followed  close  at  his  heels. 
He  seemed  afraid  of  another  silence  and  talked  fast, 
but  on  the  surface  of  things  ;  she  answered  in  low 
monosyllables.  They  had  passed  the  village  and 
were  entering  the  shadows  of  the  glen  ;  how  the 
time  rushed  by — these  bitter-sweet  moments  which, 
the  bend  in  the  road  once  passed,  would  be  at  an  end 
forever.  Her  heart  was  throbbing  fast  with  pain ; 
he  was  so  calm,  so  self-contained,  while  she  could 
not  command  her  trembling  voice  so  as  to  answer 
him.  Once  she  had  had  her  chance,  once  she  might 
have  had  all  for  which  she  now  pined,  but  she  had 
flung  it  away.  "  He  that  will  not  when  he  may— 
when  he  will,  he  shall  have  ' nay.' "  How  was  she 
to  know  that  this  calmness  was  born  of  something 
like  despair  ?— that  of  all  his  troubles  the  bitterest 
by  far  had  been  caused  by  her  ?  He,  too,  was  re- 
alizing that  these  moments  were  almost  over ;  he, 
too,  had  a  pain  like  a  knife  in  his  breast.     Sudden- 


M*  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

ly,  on  an  impulse,  he  broke  out  with  a  fragment 
of  a  moan.  He  was  by  nature  frank  and  unre- 
served, and  the  darkness,  through  which  they 
walked,  made  confession  easy. 

"  I  used  to  think  I  was  such  a  lucky  chap  ;  every- 
thing always  went  straight  ;  I  never  had  the  heart- 
ache in  my  lif e  till— till  last  July,  Helen.  Then  my 
luck  changed  ;  I  changed ;  and  now,  you  know — at 
least,  you  must  have  heard — how  badly  things  have 
gone  with  us. " 

He  could  not  see  the  quivering  face  she  turned 
away  from  him,  but  he  heard  a  smothered  sob. 

"  How  sweet  you  are,"  he  said  ;  "  you  are  sorry 
for  us." 

"Not  for  you,"  she  answered,  desperately,  "  but 
for  myself." 

"Why  for  yourself  ?"  very  gently. 

"  Because,  because— I  may  only  watch  a  storm  at 
:aea  with  you,  and  I  want  to  help  you  through  other  . 
—harder— storms."    She  spoke  distinctly.  I 

"That  is  pity.'9 

"No,"  she  said,  with  some  return  of  her  old 
spirit,  "it  is  not." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Helen  ?" 

"I  mean  that  when  you  left  me,  when  you  de- 
serted me,  I  broke  my  heart." 


A   MATTEL   OF  SKILL.  *i$ 

uDo  you  know  what  you  are  saying  ?  Do  you 
know  that  this  is  cruel  ? — that  your  pity  makes  you 
mad." 

"Pity !  I  tell  you  it  is  not  pity.  Whom  should  I 
pity?" 

"Me." 

"  Why  should  I  pity  you  ? " 

"  A  ruined,  jilted,  obscure  man  gets  pity,  if  not 
contempt." 

"Don't  talk  like  that,  I  will  not  listen  to  you. 
I  pity  any  one  who  pities  you.  I  never  understood, 
I  was  puzzled,  I  was  angry  because  I  did  not  know 
what  made  me  like  you  ;  but  I  know  now,  I  have 
heard  now,  the  whole  world  knows  what  you  have 
done." 

"That's  as  I  thought,"  he  told  her  gravely; 
"that  is  what  I  feared.  You  have  got  hold  of 
some  exaggerated  tale  about  this  business — such 
as  women  love — and  have  made  a  saint  out 
of  a  sinner,  a  hero  out  of  an  honest  tradesman. 
And  now  you  fancy  things,  in  your  generosity 
you  would  say  anything.  Before,  when  noth- 
ing stood  between  us,  you  would  not  look  at 
me." 

"  Wouldn't  I  ?  You  only  tried  me  once,  and  then 
you  went  away,  and — and —  ! " 


«za  A  MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

"  Hush,  hush !  don't  talk  like  this  now.  It  is 
too  late." 

The  pained  agitation  of  his  manner  was  her  best 
consolation. 

"I  am  not  going  to  make  love  to  you  any 
more,"  she  said,  with  an  imitation  of  her  former 
vivacity,  the  effect  of  which  the  break  in  her  voice 
destroyed.  If  you  won't  have  me  when  I  throw 
myself  at  your  head,  it  is  very  disagreeable  and  rude 
of  you." 

"  You  don't  understand  what  you  offer." 

" Excuse  me,  but  I  understand  perfectly." 

"  I  have  nothing,  I  have  to  begin  work  as  an  un- 
paid clerk  in  a  merchant's  office ;  my  mother  will 
live  with  me.  It  will  be  uphill  work  for  years  and 
years,  even  if  I  am  most  fortunate." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "and  you  are  a  man  of  ex- 
pensive tastes,  you  have  used  luxuries  as  necessities. 
Poverty  will  be  terribly  hard  on  you ;  you  will  get 
bad-tempered,  you  will  want  a  vent  for  your  anger 
—have  me ! " 

They  had  emerged  from  the  shadow  of  the  glen 
and  reached  the  garden*  door,  and  through  the  dim 
twilight  her  brave  eyes,  wet  with  tears,  smiled  at 
him.  His  scruples  were  vanishing  into  air,  he  had 
muck  to  do  to  keep  cool.     With  his  hand  upon 


A   MATTER   OF  SKILL,  m 

the  handle  of  the  gate  he  paused  and  questioned 
her— 

"Tell  me,  what  has  changed  you,  Helen !" 

' '  I  have  not  changed. "  ( 

"Not  changed?     Five  months  ago  you  refused1 
to  marry  me."  ' 

"You  had  everything  then,  you  didn't  want  me, 
at  least,  not  much.  I  was  blind  and  vain  ;  and  a 
fool.  I  may  be  a  fool  now,  but  I  am  no  longer 
blind ;  I  have  seen  clearly  enough  since  July.  I 
have  learned  a  great  deal." 

"You  know  so  little  of  me." 

"That  is  true.  I  have  told  myself  so  a  hundred 
thousand  times." 

"Helen,  you  are  torturing  me,  you  tempt  me  be- 
yond endurance." 

"Then  open  the  door,  if  you  please,  and  let  ma 
go." 

"No,  no  !  I  can  never  let  you  go  now." 

"I  must  have  tea,  you  forget  the  time,"  getting 
nervous  over  the  crisis  which  she  herself  had  brought 
about. 

"Listen,  Helen,  I  don't  want  pity,  I  want  love ; 
you  may  mistake  the  one  for  the  other  ;  you  prob- 
ably do." 

"Did  I  pity  you  last  summer,"  she  answered 


22r  A  MATTER   OF  SKILL. 

impatiently.  "And  when  you  left  me  in  a  mo- 
ment, and  went  away  to  that  other  woman,  do  you 
think  the  pain  I  had  was  pity.  It  isn't  like  you,  it 
isn't  kind  of  you  to  make  me  say  all  this.  You 
have  said  nothing.  I  don't  know  why  I  should 
think  you  care  for  me.     Let  me  go." 

"Never,''  he  said  ;  and  he  took  her  into  his  arms 
and  kissed  her. 

Every  one  said  that  the  beautiful  Miss  Mitford 
and  her  fifteen  thousand  pounds  were  being  thrown 
away  upon  Mr.  Jones — of  the  city.  Mr.  Jones 
himself  was  wont  to  say  so,  and  to  predict  great 
miseries  in  store  for  her.  She  often  acquiesced 
in  these  prophecies ;  for  she,  except  on  one  mo- 
mentous occasion,  was  chary  of  feeding  the  vanity 
or  lavishing  tender  words  on  the  lover  of  her 
choice. 

At  first,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mitford  had  been  slightly 
shocked  by  their  daughter's  departure.  Why  Helen 
should  have  engaged  herself  to  the  ruined  son  of 
"those  dreadful  Joneses"  was  incomprehensible 
to  them  ;  but  when  their  mild  remonstrances  were 
met  by  a  passionate  and  vehement  confession  of 
her  great  love  for  this  undesirable  person,  they 
instantly  became  sympathetic  and  congratulatory. 


A  MATTER   OF   SKILL.  223 

Helen  had  always  been  right,  she  was  probably- 
right  now. 

In  the  following  June,  upon  the  day  preceding 
Helen's  wedding,  the  Rectory  was  the  scene  of 
great,  though  subdued  excitement.  Bridesmaids, 
uncles,  aunts,  stray  men,  and  country  neighbors 
thronged  house  and  garden.  The  presents,  the 
trousseau,  the  flowers,  and  the  bride-elect  were  on 
view.  It  was  to  be  a  gay  wedding  (as  the  saying  is), 
every  possible  token  of  rejoicing  was  to  be  manifest, 
every  possible  honor  was  to  be  heaped  on  bride  and 
bridegroom.  "  Though  Miss  Mitford  was  making 
Such  a  bad  match,"  the  girls  said,  "  she  seemed  very 
proud  of  it." 

And  so  she  was,  she  thought  herself  the  most 
fortunate  woman  in  the  world.  Even  when  her 
Aunt  Elizabeth,  who  was  directing  the  labels  for 
the  bridal  boxes,  sighed  and  said,  pointing  with  an 
unappreciative  finger  at — 

"Mrs.  Albert  Jones" 

"I  can't  make  it  look  nice,  my  love." 

Helen  answered  quickly.  "  What's  in  a  name, 
auntie,"  and  then  added,  a  little  wistfully,  after  a 
pause,  "it  is  better  than  Hogg,  at  any  rate." 

"  Bertie  is  the  most  charming  fellow  in  the 
world,"  Mrs.  Mitford  put  in,  kissing  the  bride-elects 


224  A   MATTER  OF  SKILL. 

fair  cheek  tenderly.  tC  Whatever  his  name  was,  if 
he  had  no  name  at  all,  I  should  be  glad  for  Nellie 
to  be  called  by  it." 

"  I  don't  know  what  all  the  women  see  in  him," 
said  the  Rector  rather  dismally.  <f  Fortunately  he 
is  getting  on  fairly  well  in  business,  Elizabeth, 
though  I  believe  my  foolish  little  girl  would  have 
married  him  whether  or  no." 


THE  END* 


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15  1930 


50m-7,'29 


B  8 

514261 


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